THE 

FIGHTING 
CHANCE 


ROBB'RT-W-CHAl 


THE  FIGHTING   CHANCE 


WORKS  OF  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


THE  TRACER  OF   LOST   PERSONS 


THE 

Cardigan 

The  Maid  at  Arms 

Lorraine 

Maids  of  Paradise 

Ashes  of  Empire 

The  Red  Republic 

The  King  in  Yellow 

A  Maker  of  Moons 


RECKONING 

IOLE 

The  Conspirators 
The  Cambric  Mask 
The  Haunts  of  Men 
Outsiders 

A  Young  Man  in  a  Hurry 
The  Mystery  of  Choice 
In  Search  of  the  Un 
known 


A  King  and  a  Few  Dukes      In  the  Quarter 

FOR     CHILDREN 

Mountain-Land 

Forest  Lund  Orchard-Land 

River-Land  Outdoorland 


"  There  was  a  little    half-hearted    struggle,  a  silence, 
a  breathless  moment." 

[Page  148.] 


DEDICATED  TO 

MY     FATHER 


ort  SRI  9 

•  C-*     -f»_  A^J*  ^J  M    *-^ 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — ACQUAINTANCE      .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .  1 

II. — IMPRUDENCE «       .  20 

III. — SHOTOVER      .        .       .       „       *       *       .       ,       .  39 

IV. — THE  SEASON  OPENS ••«•'-.  72 

V. — A  WINNING  LOSER     .       .       .       .       .       ,       .  113 

VI. — MODUS  VIVENDI ,       .  152 

VII. — PERSUASION    .       .       .       .       .       *       ,       .       .172 

VIII. — CONFIDENCES .  219 

IX. — CONFESSIONS ....  257 

X.— THE  SEAMY  SIDE .300 

XL— THE  CALL  OF  THE  RAIN  .       .       ,       .       .       .  337 

XII. — THE  ASKING  PRICE .  375 

XIII. — THE  SELLING  PRICE 419 

XIV.— THE  BARGAIN .;       .  456 

XV. — THE  ENEMY  LISTENS 490 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 

"  There  was  a  little   half-hearted   struggle,  a  silence, 
a  breathless  moment "         .        .        .      Frontispiece 

"The  conversation  veered  again  toward  the  mystery 

of  heredity " .       .       .       23 

t(  She  was  standing  beside  the  fire  with  Quarrier,  one 

foot  on  the  fender  " 68 

" c  It  seems  that  I  am  capable  of  love  ;  but  I  am  in 
capable  of  its  degradation'  " 198 

" '  What  a  life  !  '   she  said,  under  her  breath ;    '  what 

a  life  for  a  woman  to  lead  ! ' '         .        .        .        .     276 

" '  I  don't  mean  anybody  in  particular,  Mr.   Plank  '  '       322 
"  Nothing  was  said  for  a  long  time  "  .        .        .      364* 

" '  Take    your    fighting     chance — it    is    the    cleanest 

thing  you  ever  touched  !  ' 394 


THE  FIGHTING  CHANCE 


CHAPTER    I 

ACQUAINTANCE 

THE  speed  of  the  train  slackened;  a  broad  tidal 
river  flashed  into  sight  below  the  trestle,  spreading  away 
on  either  hand  through  yellowing  level  meadows.  And 
now,  above  the  roaring  undertone  of  the  cars,  from  far 
ahead  floated  back  the  treble  bell-notes  of  the  locomotive ; 
there  came  a  gritting  vibration  of  brakes ;  slowly,  more 
slowly  the  cars  glided  to  a  creaking  standstill  beside  a 
sun-scorched  platform  gay  with  the  bright  flutter  of 
sunshades  and  summer  gowns. 

"  Shotover !  Shotover !  "  rang  the  far  cry  along 
the  cars ;  and  an  absent-minded  young  man  in  the  Pull 
man  pocketed  the  uncut  magazine  he  had  been  dreaming 
over  and,  picking  up  gun  case  and  valise,  followed  a 
line  of  fellow-passengers  to  the  open  air,  where  one  by 
one  they  were  engulfed  and  lost  to  view  amid  the  gay 
confusion  on  the  platform. 

The  absent-minded  young  man,  however,  did  not 
seem  to  know  exactly  where  he  was  bound  for.  He  stood 
hesitating,  leisurely  inspecting  the  flashing  ranks  of 
vehicles — depot  wagons,  omnibusses,  and  motor  cars 
already  eddying  around  a  dusty  gravel  drive  centred 
by  the  conventional  railroad  flower  bed  and  fountain. 

Sunshine  blazed  on  foliage  plants  arranged  geo 
metrically,  on  scarlet  stars  composed  of  geraniums,  on 

1 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

thickets  of  tall  flame-tinted  cannas.  And  around  this 
triumph  of  landscape  gardening,  phaeton,  Tilbury, 
Mercedes,  and  Toledo  backed,  circled,  tooted ;  gaily 
gowned  women,  whips  aslant,  horses  dancing,  greeted 
expected  guests ;  laughing  young  men  climbed  into  dog 
carts  and  took  the  reins  from  nimble  grooms;  young 
girls,  extravagantly  veiled,  made  room  in  comfortable 
touring-cars  for  feminine  guests  whose  extravagant  veils 
were  yet  to  be  unpacked;  slim  young  men  in  leather 
trappings,  caps  adorned  with  elaborate  masks  or  goggles, 
manipulated  rakish  steering-gears;  preoccupied  machin 
ists  were  fussing  with  valve  and  radiator  or  were  crank 
ing  up;  and,  through  the  jolly  tumult,  the  melancholy 
bell  of  the  locomotive  sounded,  and  the  long  train 
moved  out  through  the  September  sunshine  amid  clouds 
of  snowy  steam. 

And  all  this  time  the  young  man,  gun  case  in  one 
hand,  suit  case  in  the  other,  looked  about  him  in  his 
good-humoured,  leisurely  manner  for  anybody  or  any 
vehicle  which  might  be  waiting  for  him.  His  amiable 
inspection  presently  brought  a  bustling  baggage-master 
within  range  of  vision;  and  he  spoke  to  this  official, 
mentioning  his  host's  name. 

"  Lookin'  for  Mr.  Ferrall?  "  repeated  the  baggage- 
master,  spinning  a  trunk  dexterously  into  rank  with  its 
fellows.  "  Say,  one  of  Mr.  Ferrall's  men  was  here  just 
now — there  he  is,  over  there  uncrating  that  there  bird- 
dog!" 

The  young  man's  eyes  followed  the  direction  indi 
cated  by  the  grimy  thumb;  a  red-faced  groom  in  fa 
miliar  livery  was  kneeling  beside  a  dog's  travelling  crate, 
attempting  to  unlock  it,  while  behind  the  bars  an  ex 
cited  white  setter  whined  and  thrust  forth  first  one 
silky  paw  then  the  other. 


ACQUAINTANCE 


The  young  man  watched  the  scene  for  a  moment, 
then: 

"  Are  you  one  of  Mr.  Ferrall's  men  ?  "  he  asked  in 
his  agreeable  voice. 

The  groom  looked  up,  then  stood  up : 

"  Yis,  Sorr." 

"  Take  these ;  I'm  Mr.  Siward — for  Shotover  House. 
I  dare  say  you  have  room  for  me  and  the  dog,  too." 

The  groom  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  but  Siward 
took  the  crate  key  from  his  fingers,  knelt,  and  tried  the 
lock.  It  resisted.  From  the  depths  of  the  crate  a  be 
seeching  paw  fell  upon  his  cuff. 

"  Certainly,  old  fellow,"  he  said  soothingly,  "  /  know 
how  you  feel  about  it;  I  know  you're  in  a  hurry — and 
we'll  have  you  out  in  a  second — steady,  boy ! — some 
thing's  jammed,  you  see!  Only  one  moment  now!  .  .  . 
There  you  are !  " 

The  dog  attempted  to  bolt  as  the  crate  door  opened, 
but  the  young  man  caught  him  by  the  leather  collar  and 
the  groom  snapped  on  a  leash. 

"  Beg  pardon,  Sorr,"  began  the  groom,  carried 
almost  off  his  feet  by  the  frantic  circling  of  the  dog — 
"  beg  pardon,  Sorr,  but  I'll  be  afther  seein'  if  anny  of 
Mr.  Ferrall's  men  drove  over  for  you " 

"  Oh !     Are  you  not  one  of  Mr.  Ferrall's  men  ?  " 

"  Yis,  Sorr,  but  I  hadn't  anny  orders  to  meet  anny 
wan " 

"  Haven't  you  anything  here  to  drive  me  in  ?  " 

"  Yis,  Sorr— I'll  look  to  see-^" 

The  raw  groom,  much  embarrassed,  and  keeping  his 
feet  with  difficulty  against  the  plunging  dog,  turned 
toward  the  gravel  drive  where  now  only  a  steam  motor 
and  a  depot-wagon  remained.  As  they  looked  the  motor 
steamed  out,  honking  hoarsely ;  the  depot-wagon  fol- 

3 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

lowed,  leaving  the  circle  at  the  end  of  the  station  empty 
of  vehicles. 

"  Didn't  Mr.  Ferrall  expect  me?  "  asked  Siward. 

"  Aw,  yis,  Sorr ;  but  the  gin  tlemen  for  Shotover 
House  does  ginerally  allways  coom  by  Black  Fells, 
Sorr " 

"  Oh,  Lord !  "  said  the  young  man,  "  I  remember 
now.  I  should  have  gone  on  to  Black  Fells  Crossing; 
Mr.  Ferrall  wrote  me !  "  Then,  amused :  "  I  suppose 
you  have  only  a  baggage-wagon  here?  " 

"  No,  Sorr — a  phayton  " — he  hesitated. 

"  Well?     Isn't  a  phaeton  all  right?  " 

"  Yis,  Sorr — if  th'  yoong  lady  says  so — beg  pardon, 
Sorr,  Miss  Landis  is  driving." 

"  Oh — h !  I  see.  ...  Is  Miss  Landis  a  guest  at 
Shotover  House?  " 

"  Yis,  Sorr.  An'  if  ye  would  joost  ask  her — the 
phayton  do  be  coming  now,  Sorr !  " 

The  phaeton  was  coming;  the  horse,  a  showy  ani 
mal,  executed  side-steps ;  blue  ribbons  fluttered  from  the 
glittering  head-stall ;  a  young  girl  in  white  was  driving. 

Siward  advanced  to  the  platform's  edge  as  the  phae 
ton  drew  up ;  the  young  lady  looked  inquiringly  at  the 
groom,  at  the  dog,  and  leisurely  at  him. 

So  he  took  of  his  hat,  naming  himself  in  that  well- 
bred  and  agreeable  manner  characteristic  of  men  of  his 
sort, — and  even  his  smile  appeared  to  be  part  and  parcel 
of  a  conventional  ensemble  so  harmonious  as  to  remain 
inconspicuous. 

"  You  should  have  gone  on  to  Black  Fells  Crossing," 
observed  Miss  Landis,  coolly  controlling  the  nervous 
horse.  "  Didn't  you  know  it  ?  " 

He  said  he  remembered  now  that  such  were  the  direc 
tions  given  him. 

4 


ACQUAINTANCE 


The  girl  glanced  at  him  incuriously,  and  with  more 
curiosity  at  the  dog.  "  Is  that  the  Sagamore  pup, 
Flynn?"  she  asked. 

"  It  is,  Miss." 

"  Can't  you  take  him  on  the  rumble  with  you  ?  " 
And,  to  Siward  :  "  There  is  room  for  your  gun  and  suit 


for  me  ?  "  he  asked,  smiling. 

"  I  think  so.  Be  careful  of  that  Sagamore  pup, 
Flynn.  Hold  him  between  your  knees.  Are  you  ready, 
Mr.  Siward?" 

So  he  climbed  in;  the  groom  hoisted  the  dog  to  the 
rumble  and  sprang  up  behind  ;  the  horse  danced  and  mis 
behaved,  making  a  spectacle  of  himself  and  an  agreeable 
picture  of  his  driver;  then  the  pretty  little  phaeton 
swung  northward  out  of  the  gravel  drive  and  went 
whirling  along  a  road  all  misty  with  puffs  of  yellow 
dust  which  the  afternoon  sun  turned  to  floating  golden 
powder. 

"  Did  you  send  my  telegram,  Flynn  ?  "  she  asked 
without  turning  her  head. 

"  I  did,  Miss." 

It  being  the  most  important  telegram  she  had  ever 
sent  in  all  her  life,  Miss  Landis  became  preoccupied,  — 
quite  oblivious  to  extraneous  details,  including  Siward, 
until  the  horse  began  acting  badly  again.  Her  slightly 
disdainful  and  perfect  control  of  the  reins  interested 
the  young  man.  He  might  have  said  something  civil 
and  conventional  about  that,  but  did  not  make  the  effort 
to  invade  a  reserve  which  appeared  to  embarrass  nobody. 

A  stacatto  note  from  the  dog,  prolonged  infinitely 
in  hysterical  crescendo,  demanded  comment  from  some 
body. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him,  Flynn  ?  "  she  asked. 
5 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Siward  said :  "  You  should  let  him  run,  Miss 
Landis." 

She  nodded,  smiling,  inattentive,  absorbed  in  her 
own  affairs,  still  theorising  concerning  her  telegram. 
She  drove  on  for  a  while,  and  might  have  forgotten  the 
dog  entirely  had  he  not  once  more  lifted  his  voice  in 
melancholy. 

"  You  say  he  ought  to  run  for  a  mile  or  two  ?  Do 
you  think  he'll  bolt,  Mr.  Siward?  " 

"  Is  he  a  new  dog?  " 

"  Yes,  fresh  from  the  kennels ;  supposed  to  be  house- 
and  wagon-broken,  steady  to  shot  and  wing — "  She 
shrugged  her  pretty  shoulders.  "  You  see  how  he's 
acting  already !  " 

"  Do  you  mind  if  I  try  him?  "  suggested  Siward. 

"  You  mean  that  you  are  going  to  let  him  run?  " 

"  I  think  so." 

"And  if  he  bolts?" 

"  I'll  take  my  chances." 

"  Yes,  but  please  consider  my  chances,  Mr.  Siward. 
The  dog  doesn't  belong  to  me." 

"  But  he  ought  to  run " 

"  But  suppose  he  runs  away  ?  He's  a  horridly  ex 
pensive  creature — if  you  care  to  take  the  risk." 

"  I'll  take  the  risk,"  said  Siward,  smiling  as  she  drew 
rein.  "  Now  Flynn,  give  me  the  leash.  Quiet !  Quiet, 
puppy!  Everything  is  coming  your  way;  that's  the 
beauty  of  patience ;  great  thing,  patience !  "  He  took 
the  leader ;  the  dog  sprang  from  the  rumble.  "  Now, 
my  friend,  look  at  me !  No,  don't  twist  and  squirm  and 
scramble;  look  me  square  in  the  eye;  so!  .  .  .  Now  we 
know  each  other  and  we  respect  each  other — because  you 
are  going  to  be  a  good  puppy  .  .  .  and  obey  .  .  . 
Down  charge ! " 

6 


ACQUAINTANCE 


The  dog,  trembling  with  eager  comprehension, 
dropped  like  a  shot,  muzzle  laid  flat  between  his  paws. 
Siward  unleashed  him,  looked  down  at  him  for  a  second, 
stooped  and  caressed  the  silky  head,  then  with  a  laugh 
swung  himself  into  the  phaeton  beside  the  driver,  who, 
pretty  head  turned,  had  been  looking  on  intently. 

"  Your  dog  is  yard-broken,"  he  said.  "  Look  at 
him." 

"  I  see.     Do  you  think  he  will  follow  us?  " 

"  I  think  so." 

The  horse  started,  Miss  Landis  looking  back  over 
her  shoulder  at  the  dog  who  lay  motionless,  crouched 
flat  in  the  road. 

Then  Siward  turned.  "  Come  on,  Sagamore !  "  he 
said  gaily;  and  the  dog  sprang  forward,  circled  about 
the  moving  phaeton,  splitting  the  air  with  yelps  of 
ecstasy,  then  tore  ahead,  mad  with  the  delight  of  stretch 
ing  cramped  muscles  amid  the  long  rank  grass  and 
shrubbery  of  the  roadside. 

The  girl  watched  him  doubtfully;  when  he  disap 
peared  far  away  up  the  road  she  turned  the  blue  inquiry 
of  her  eyes  on  Siward. 

"  He'll  be  back,"  said  the  young  fellow,  laughing ; 
and  presently  the  dog  reappeared  on  a  tearing  gallop, 
white  flag  tossing,  glorious  in  his  new  liberty,  enchanted 
with  the  confidence  this  tall  young  man  had  reposed  in 
him — this  adorable  young  man,  this  wonderful  friend 
who  had  suddenly  appeared  to  release  him  from  an  un 
dignified  and  abominable  situation  in  a  crate. 

"  A  good  dog,"  said  Siward ;  and  the  girl  looked 
around  at  him,  partly  because  his  voice  was  pleasant, 
partly  because  a  vague  memory  was  beginning  to  stir 
within  her,  coupling  something  unpleasant  with  the 
name  of  Siward. 

2  7 


THE    FIGHTING    CHANCE 

She  had  been  conscious  of  it  when  he  first  named 
himself,  but,  absorbed  in  the  overwhelming  importance 
of  her  telegram,  had  left  the  analysis  of  the  matter  for 
the  future. 

She  thought  again  of  her  telegram,  theorised  a  little, 
came  to  no  conclusion  except  to  let  the  matter  rest  for 
the  present,  and  mentally  turned  to  the  next  and  far 
less  important  problem — the  question  of  this  rather  at 
tractive  young  man  at  her  side,  and  why  the  name  of 
Siward  should  be  linked  in  her  mind  with  anything  dis 
agreeable. 

Tentatively  following  the  elusive  mental  clews  that 
might  awaken  something  definite  concerning  her  hazy 
impression  of  the  man  beside  her,  she  spoke  pleasantly, 
conventionally,  touching  idly  any  topic  that  might  have 
a  bearing ;  and,  under  a  self-possession  so  detached  as  to 
give  an  impression  of  indifference,  eyes,  ears,  and  intel 
ligence  admitted  that  he  was  agreeable  to  look  at, 
pleasant  of  voice,  and  difficult  to  reconcile  with  anything 
unpleasant. 

Which  gradually  aroused  her  interest — the  incon 
gruous  usually  interesting  girls  of  her  age — for  he 
had  wit  enough  to  amuse  her,  sufficient  inconsequence  to 
please  her,  and  something  listless,  at  times  almost  absent- 
minded,  almost  inattentive,  that  might  have  piqued  her 
had  it  not  inoculated  her,  as  it  always  does  any  woman, 
with  the  nascent  germ  of  curiosity.  Besides,  there  was, 
in  the  hint  of  his  momentary  preoccupation,  a  certain 
charm. 

They  discussed  shooting  and  the  opening  of  the 
season ;  dogs  and  the  training  of  dogs ;  and  why  some 
go  gun-shy  and  why  some  are  blinkers.  From  sport 
and  its  justification,  they  became  inconsequential;  and 
she  was  beginning  to  enjoy  the  freshness  of  their  chance 

"  8 


ACQUAINTANCE 


acquaintance,  his  nice  attitude  toward  things,  his  irrele 
vancy,  his  gaiety. 

Laughter  thawed  her ;  for  notwithstanding  the  fear 
less  confidence  she  had  been  taught  for  men  of  her  own 
kind,  self-possession  and  reserve,  if  not  inherent,  had 
also  been  drilled  into  her,  and  she  required  a  great  deal 
in  a  man  before  she  paid  him  the  tribute  of  one  of  her 
pretty  laughs. 

Apparently  they  were  advancing  rather  rapidly. 

"  Don't  you  think  we  ought  to  call  the  dog  in,  Mr. 
Siward?" 

"Yes;  he's  had  enough!" 

She  drew  rein ;  he  sprang  out  and  whistled ;  and  the 
Sagamore  pup,  dusty  and  happy  came  romping  back. 
Siward  motioned  him  to  the  rumble,  but  the  dog  leaped 
to  the  front. 

"  I  don't  mind,"  said  the  girl.  "  Let  him  sit  here 
between  us.  And  you  might  occupy  yourself  by  pulling 
some  of  those  burrs  from  his  ears — if  you  will?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will.  Look  up  here,  puppy !  No ! 
Don't  try  to  lick  my  face,  for  that  is  bad  manners. 
Demonstrations  are  odious,  as  the  poet  says." 

"  It's  always  bad  manners,  isn't  it?  "  asked  Miss 
Landis. 

"What?     Being  affectionate?" 

"  Yes,  and  admitting  it." 

"  I  believe  it  is.  Do  you  hear  that — Sagamore? 
But  never  mind ;  I'll  break  the  rules  some  day  when  we're 
alone." 

The  dog  laid  one  paw  on  Siward's  knee,  looking  him 
wistfully  in  the  eyes. 

"  More  demonstrations,"  observed  the  girl.  "  Mr. 
Siward !  You  are  hugging  him !  This  amounts  to  a 
dual  conspiracy  in  bad  manners." 

9 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  Awfully  glad  to  admit  you  to  the  conspiracy,"  he 
said.  "  There's  one  vacancy — if  you  are  eligible." 

"  I  am ;  I  was  discovered  recently  kissing  my  saddle- 
mare." 

"  That  settles  it !  Sagamore,  give  the  young  lady 
the  grip." 

Sylvia  Landis  glanced  at  the  dog,  then  impulsively 
shifting  the  whip  to  her  left  hand,  held  out  the  right. 
And  very  gravely  the  Sagamore  pup  laid  one  paw  in 
her  dainty  white  gloved  palm. 

"  You  darling !  "  murmured  the  girl,  resuming  her 
whip. 

"  I  notice,"  observed  Siward,  "  that  you  are  per 
fectly  qualified  for  membership  in  our  association  for 
the  promotion  of  bad  manners.  In  fact  I  should  suggest 
you  for  the  presidency " 

"  I  suppose  you  think  all  sorts  of  things  because 
I  gushed  over  that  dog." 

"  Of  course  I  do." 

"  Well  you  need  not,"  she  rejoined,  delicate  nose 
up-tilted.  "  I  never  kissed  a  baby  in  all  my  life — and 
never  mean  to.  Which  is  probably  more  than  you  can 
say." 

"  Yes,  its  more  than  I  can  say." 

"  That  admission  elects  you  president,"  she  con 
cluded.  But  after  a  moment's  silent  driving  she  turned 
partly  toward  him  with  mock  seriousness :  "  Is  it  not 
horridly  unnatural  in  me  to  feel  that  way  about  babies? 
And  about  people,  too;  I  simply  cannot  endure  dem 
onstrations.  As  for  dogs  and  horses — well,  I've  ad 
mitted  how  I  behave;  and,  being  so  shamelessly  affec 
tionate  by  disposition,  why  can't  I  be  nice  to  babies? 
I've  a  hazy  but  dreadful  notion  that  there's  something 
wrong  about  me,  Mr.  Siward." 

10 


ACQUAINTANCE 


He  scrutinised  the  pretty  features,  anxiously ;  "  I 
can't  see  it,"  he  said. 

"  But  I  mean  it — almost  seriously.  I  don't  want 
to  be  so  aloof,  but — I  don't  like  to  touch  other  people. 
It  is  rather  horrid  of  me  I  suppose  to  be  like  those  silky, 
plumy,  luxurious  Angora  cats  who  never  are  civil  to 
you  and  who  always  jump  out  of  your  arms  at  the  first 
opportunity." 

He  laughed — and  there  was  malice  in  his  eyes,  but 
he  did  not  know  her  well  enough  to  pursue  the  subject 
through  so  easy  an  opening. 

It  had  occurred  to  her,  too,  that  her  simile  might 
invite  elaboration,  and  she  sensed  the  laugh  in  his 
silence,  and  liked  him  for  remaining  silent  where  he 
might  easily  have  been  wittily  otherwise. 

This  set  her  so  much  at  ease,  left  her  so  confident, 
that  they  were  on  terms  of  gayest  understanding  pres 
ently,  she  gossiping  about  the  guests  at  Shotover  House, 
outlining  the  diversions  planned  for  the  two  weeks  be 
fore  them. 

"  But  we  shall  see  little  of  one  another ;  you  will  be 
shooting  most  of  the  time,"  she  said — with  the  very 
faintest  hint  of  challenge — too  delicate,  too  impersonal 
to  savour  of  coquetry.  But  the  germ  of  it  was  there. 

"Do  you  shoot?" 

"Yes;  why?" 

"  I  am  reconciled  to  the  shooting,  then." 

"  Oh,  that  is  awfully  civil  of  you.  Sometimes  I'd 
rather  play  Bridge." 

"  So  should  I — sometimes." 

"  I'll  remember  that,  Mr.  Siward ;  and  when  all  the 
men  are  waiting  for  you  to  start  out  after  grouse  per 
haps  I  may  take  that  moment  to  whisper :  '  May  I 
play?'" 

11 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

He  laughed. 

"  You  mean  that  you  really  would  stay  and  play 
double  dummy  when  every  other  living  man  will  be 
off  to  the  coverts?  Double  dummy — to  improve  my 
game  ?  " 

"  Certainly  !     I  need  improvement." 

"  Then  there  is  something  wrong  with  you,  too,  Mr. 
Siward." 

She  laughed  and  started  to  flick  her  whip,  but  at 
her  first  motion  the  horse  gave  trouble. 

"  The  bit  doesn't  fit,"  observed  Siward. 

"  You  are  perfectly  right,"  she  returned,  surprised. 
"  I  ought  to  have  remembered ;  it  is  shameful  to  drive 
a  horse  improperly  bitted."  And,  after  a  moment: 
"  You  are  considerate  toward  animals ;  it  is  good  in  a 
man." 

"  Oh,  it's  no  merit.  When  animals  are  uncomforta 
ble  it  worries  me.  It's  one  sort  of  selfishness,  you  see." 

"  What  nonsense,"  she  said ;  and  her  smile  was  very 
friendly.  "  Why  doesn't  a  nice  man  ever  admit  he's 
nice  when  told  so?  " 

It  seems  they  had  advanced  that  far.  For  she 
was  beginning  to  find  this  young  man  not  only  safe  but 
promising;  she  had  met  nobody  recently  half  as  amus 
ing,  and  the  outlook  at  Shotover  House  had  been  un 
promising  with  only  the  overgrateful  Page  twins  to 
practise  on — the  other  men  collectively  and  individually 
boring  her.  And  suddenly,  welcome  as  manna  from  the 
sky,  behold  this  highly  agreeable  boy  to  play  with — 
until  Quarrier  arrived.  Her  telegram  had  been  addressed 
to  Mr.  Quarrier. 

"  What  was  it  you  were  saying  about  selfishness  ?  " 
she  asked.  "  Oh,  I  remember.  It  was  nonsense." 

"  Certainly." 


ACQUAINTANCE 


She  laughed,  adding:  "  Selfishness  is  so  simply  de 
fined  you  know." 

"  Is  it?     How." 

"  A  refusal  to  renounce.  That  covers  everything," 
she  concluded. 

"  Sometimes  renunciation  is  weakness — isn't  it?  "  he 
suggested. 

"  In  what  case  for  example  ?  " 

"  Well,  suppose  we  take  love." 

"  Very  well,  you  may  take  it  if  you  like  it." 

"  Suppose  you  loved  a  man !  "  he  insisted. 

"  Let  him  beware !    What  then?  " 

" — And,  suppose  it  would  distress  your  family  if 
you  married  him  ?  " 

"  I'd  give  him  up." 

"If  you  loved  him?" 

"  Love  ?  That  is  the  poorest  excuse  for  selfishness, 
Mr.  Siward." 

"  So  you  would  ruin  your  happiness  and  his " 

"  A  girl  ought  to  find  more  happiness  in  renouncing 
a  selfish  love  than  in  love  itself,"  announced  Miss  Landis 
with  that  serious  conviction  characteristic  of  her  years. 

"  Of  course,"  assented  Siward  with  a  touch  of  malice, 
"  if  you  really  do  find  more  happiness  in  renouncing 
love  than  in  love  itself,  it  would  be  foolish  not  to  do 
it " 

"  Mr.  Siward !  You  are  derisive.  Besides,  you  are 
not  acute.  A  woman  is  always  an  opportunist.  When 
the  event  takes  place  I  shall  know  what  to  do." 

"  You  mean  when  you  want  to  marry  the  man  you 
mustn't?  " 

"  Exactly.     I  probably  shall." 

"Marry  him?" 

"Wish  to!" 

13 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

"  I  see.     But  you  won't,  of  course." 

She  drew  rein,  bringing  the  horse  to  a  walk  at  the 
foot  of  a  long  hill. 

"  We  are  going  much  too  fast,"  said  Miss  Landis, 
smiling. 

"  Driving  too  fast  for " 

"  No,  not  driving,  going — you  and  I." 

"  Oh,  you  mean " 

"  Yes  I  do.     We  are  on  all  sorts  of  terms,  already." 

"  In  the  country,  you  know,  people " 

"  Yes  I  know  all  about  it,  and  what  old  and  valued 
friends  one  makes  at  a  week's  end.  But  it  has  been  a 
matter  of  half-hours  with  us,  Mr.  Siward." 

"  Let  us  sit  very  still  and  think  it  over,"  he  sug 
gested.  And  they  both  laughed. 

It  was  perhaps  the  reaction  of  her  gaiety  that  re 
called  to  her  mind  her  telegram.  The  telegram  had 
been  her  promised  answer  after  she  had  had  time  to  con 
sider  a  suggestion  made  to  her  by  a  Mr.  Howard  Quar- 
rier.  The  last  week  at  Shotover  permitted  reflection; 
and  while  her  telegram  was  no  complete  answer  to  the 
suggestion  he  had  made,  it  contained  material  of  in 
terest  in  the  eight  words :  "  I  will  consider  your  request 
when  you  arrive." 

"  I  wonder  if  you  know  Howard  Quarrier  ?  "  she 
said. 

After  a  second's  hesitation  he  replied :  "  Yes — a  lit 
tle.  Everybody  does." 

"  You  do  know  him  ?  " 

"  Only  at— the  club." 

"Oh,  the  Lenox?" 

"  The  Lenox — and  the  Patroons." 

Preoccupied,  driving  with  careless,  almost  inatten 
tive  perfection,  she  thought  idly  of  her  twenty-three 

14 


ACQUAINTANCE 


years,  wondering  how  life  could  have  passed  so  quickly 
leaving  her  already  stranded  on  the  shoals  of  an  en 
gagement  to  marry  Howard  Quarrier.  Then  her 
thoughts,  errant,  wandered  half  the  world  over  before 
they  returned  to  Siward;  and  when  at  length  they  did, 
and  meaning  to  be  civil,  she  spoke  again  of  his  acquaint 
ance  with  Quarrier  at  the  Patroons  Club — the  club  itself 
being  sufficient  to  settle  Siward's  status  in  every  com 
munity. 

"  I'm  trying  to  remember  what  it  is  I  have  heard 
about  you,"  she  continued  amiably ;  "  you  are " 

An  odd  expression  in  his  eyes  arrested  her — long 
enough  to  note  their  colour  and  expression — and  she 
continued,  pleasantly ;  " — you  are  Stephen  Siward,  are 
you  not?  You  see  I  know  your  name  perfectly  well — " 
Her  straight  brows  contracted  a  trifle;  she  drove  on, 
lips  compressed,  following  an  elusive  train  of  thought 
which  vaguely,  persistently,  coupled  his  name  with 
something  indefinitely  unpleasant.  And  she  could  not 
reconcile  this  with  his  appearance.  However,  the  train 
of  unlinked  ideas  which  she  pursued  began  to  form  the 
semblance  of  a  chain.  Coupling  his  name  with  Quar- 
rier's,  and  with  a  club,  aroused  memory ;  vague  uneasi 
ness  stirred  her  to  a  glimmering  comprehension.  Si- 
ward?  Stephen  Siward?  One  of  the  New  York  Si- 
wards  then; — one  of  that  race 

Suddenly  the  truth  flashed  upon  her, — the  crude 
truth  lacking  definite  detail,  lacking  circumstance  and 
colour  and  atmosphere,— merely  the  raw  and  ugly 
truth. 

Had  he  looked  at  her — and  he  did,  once — he  could 
have  seen  only  the  unruffled  and  very  sweet  profile  of  a 
young  girl.  Composure  was  one  of  the  masks  she  had 
learned  to  wear — when  she  chose. 

15 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

And  she  was  thinking  very  hard  all  the  while; 
"  So  this  is  the  man?  I  might  have  known  his  name. 
Where  were  my  five  wits?  Siward! — Stephen  Siward! 
.  .  .  He  is  very  young,  too  .  .  .  much  too  young  to  be 
so  horrid.  .  .  .  Yet — it  wasn't  so  dreadful,  after  all; 
only  the  publicity !  Dear  me !  I  knew  we  were  going  too 
fast." 

"  Miss  Landis,"  he  said. 

"  Mr.  Siward?  " — very  gently.  It  was  her  way  to 
be  gentle  when  generous. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  "  that  you  are  beginning  to  re 
member  where  you  may  have  heard  my  name." 

"  Yes — a  little — "  She  looked  at  him  with  the  direct 
gaze  of  a  child,  but  the  lovely  eyes  were  troubled.  His 
smile  was  not  very  genuine,  but  he  met  her  gaze  steadily 
enough. 

"  It  was  rather  nice  of  Mrs.  Ferrall  to  ask  me,"  he 
said,  "  after  the  mess  I  made  of  things  last  spring." 

"  Grace  Ferrall  is  a  dear,"  she  replied. 

After  a  moment  he  ventured :  "  I  suppose  you  saw 
it  in  the  papers." 

"  I  think  so ;  I  had  completely  forgotten  it ;  your 
name  seemed  to " 

"  I  see."  Then,  listlessly :  "  I  couldn't  have  ven 
tured  to  remind  you  that — that  perhaps  you  might  not 
care  to  be  so  amiable " 

"  Mr.  Siward,"  she  said  impulsively,  "  you  are  nice 
to  me!  Why  shouldn't  I  be  amiable?  It  was — it  was — 
I've  forgotten  just  how  dreadfully  you  did  behave " 

"  Pretty  badly." 

"Very?" 

"  They  say  so." 

"  And  what  is  your  opinion  Mr.  Siward  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  ought  to  have  known  better."  Something 
16 


ACQUAINTANCE 


about  him  reminded  her  of  a  bad  small  boy ;  and  sud 
denly  in  spite  of  her  better  sense,  in  spite  of  her  instinc 
tive  caution,  she  found  herself  on  the  very  verge  of 
laughter.  What  was  it  in  the  man  that  disarmed  and 
invited  a  confidence — scarcely  justified  it  appeared? 
What  was  it  now  that  moved  her  to  overlook  what  few 
overlook — not  the  fault,  but  its  publicity?  Was  it 
his  agreeable  bearing,  his  pleasant  badinage,  his  amiably 
listless  moments  of  preoccupation,  his  youth  that  ap 
pealed  to  her — aroused  her  charity,  her  generosity,  her 
curiosity  ? 

And  had  other  people  continued  to  accept  him,  too? 
What  would  Quarrier  think  of  his  presence  at  Shotover? 
She  began  to  realise  that  she  was  a  little  afraid  of  Quar- 
rier's  opinions.  And  his  opinions  were  always  judg 
ments.  However  Grace  Ferrall  had  thought  it  proper 
to  ask  him,  and  that  meant  social  absolution.  As  far  as 
that  went  she  also  was  perfectly  ready  to  absolve  him 
if  he  needed  it.  But  perhaps  he  didn't  care ! — She 
looked  at  him,  furtively.  He  seemed  to  be  tranquil 
enough  in  his  abstraction.  Trouble  appeared  to  slide 
very  easily  from  his  broad  young  shoulders.  Perhaps 
he  was  already  taking  much  for  granted  in  her  gentle 
ness  with  him.  And  gradually  speculation  became  in 
terest  and  interest  a  young  girl's  innocent  curiosity  to 
learn  something  of  a  man  whose  record  it  seemed  almost 
impossible  to  reconcile  with  his  personality. 

"  I  was  wondering,"  he  said  looking  up  to  encounter 
her  clear  eyes,  "  whose  house  that  is  over  there?  " 

"Beverly  Plank's  shooting-box;  Black  Fells,"  she 
replied  nodding  toward  the  vast  pile  of  blackish  rocks 
against  the  sky,  upon  which  sprawled  a  heavy  stone 
house  infested  with  chimneys. 

"Plank?     Oh  yes." 

17 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

He  smiled  to  remember  the  battering  blows  rained 
upon  the  ramparts  of  society  by  the  master  of  Black 
Fells. 

But  the  smile  faded;  and,  glancing  at  him,  the  girl 
was  surprised  to  see  the  subtle  change  in  his  face — 
the  white  worn  look,  then  the  old  listless  apathy  which, 
all  at  once  to  her,  hinted  of  something  graver  than  pre 
occupation. 

"  Are  we  near  the  sea  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Very  near.  Only  a  moment  to  the  top  of  this 
hill.  .  .  .  Now  look!" 

There  lay  the  sea — the  same  grey -blue  crawling 
void  that  had  ever  fascinated  and  repelled  him — always 
wrinkled,  always  in  flat  monotonous  motion,  spreading 
away,  away  to  the  sad  world's  ends. 

"  Full  of  menace — always,"  he  said,  unconscious 
that  he  had  spoken  aloud. 

"  The  sea !  " 

He  spoke  without  turning :  "  The  sea  is  a  relentless 
thing  for  a  man  to  fight.  .  .  .  There  are  other  tides 
more  persistent  than  the  sea,  but  like  it — like  it  in  its 
menace." 

His  face  seemed  thinner,  older;  she  noticed  his 
cheek  bones  for  the  first  time.  Then,  meeting  her  eyes, 
youth  returned  with  a  laugh  and  a  touch  of  colour; 
and,  without  understanding  exactly  how,  she  was 
aware,  presently,  that  they  had  insensibly  slipped 
back  to  their  light  badinage  and  gay  inconsequences 
— back  to  a  footing  which,  strangely,  seemed  to  be 
already  an  old  footing,  familiar,  pleasant,  and  natural 
to  return  to. 

"  Is  that  Shotover  House  ?  "  he  asked  as  they  came 
to  the  crest  of  the  last  hillock  between  them  and  the 
sea. 

18 


ACQUAINTANCE 


"  At  last,  Mr.  Siward,"  she  said  mockingly ;  "  and 
now  your  troubles  are  nearly  ended." 

"  And  yours,  Miss  Landis  ?  " 

"  T  don't  know,"  she  murmured  to  herself,  thinking 
of  the  telegram  with  the  faintest  misgiving. 

For  she  was  very  young,  and  she  had  not  had  half 
enough  out  of  life  as  yet;  and  besides,  her  theories  and 
preconceived  plans  for  the  safe  and  sound  ordering  of 
her  life  appeared  to  lack  weight — nay,  they  were  dwin 
dling  already  into  insignificance. 

Theory  had  almost  decided  her  to  answer  Mr. 
Quarrier's  suggestion  with  a  4  Yes.'  However,  he  was 
coming  from  the  Lakes  in  a  day  or  two.  She  could 
decide  definitely  when  she  had  discussed  the  matter  with 
him. 

"  I  wish  that  I  owned  this  dog,"  observed  Siward, 
as  the  phaeton  entered  the  macadamised  drive. 

"  I  wish  so,  too,"  she  said,  "  but  he  belongs  to  Mr. 
Quarrier." 


19 


CHAPTER  II 

IMPRUDENCE 

A  HOUSE  of  native  stone  built  into  and  among 
weather-scarred  rocks,  one  massive  wing  butting  sea 
ward,  others  nosing  north  and  south  among  cedars  and 
outcropping  ledges — the  whole  silver-grey  mass  of 
masonry  reddening  under  a  westering  sun,  every  dormer, 
every  leaded  diamond  pane  aflame;  this  was  Shotover 
as  Siward  first  beheld  it. 

Like  the  craggy  vertebrae  of  a  half-buried  fossil 
splitting  the  sod,  a  ragged  line  of  rock  rose  as  a  barrier 
to  inland  winds ;  the  foreland,  set  here  and  there  with 
tiny  lawns  and  pockets  of  bright  flowers,  fell  away  to  tile 
cliffs ;  and  here,  sheer  wet  black  rocks  fronted  the  eternal 
battering  of  the  Atlantic. 

As  the  phaeton  drew  up  under  a  pillared  portr- 
cochere,  one  or  two  servants  appeared;  a  rather  impos 
ing  specimen  bowed  them  through  the  doors  into  the 
hall  where,  in  a  wide  chimney  place,  the  embers  of  a 
drift-wood  fire  glimmered  like  a  heap  of  dusty  jewels. 
Bars  of  sunlight  slanted  on  wall  and  rug,  on  stone  floor 
and  carved  staircase,  on  the  bronze  foliations  of  the 
railed  gallery  above,  where,  in  the  golden  gloom  through 
a  high  window,  sun-tipped  tree  tops  against  a  sky  of 
azure  stirred  like  burnished  foliage  in  a  tapestry. 

"  There  is  nobody  here,  of  course,"  observed  Miss 
Landis  to  Siward  as  they  halted  in  front  of  the  fire 
place  ;  "  the  season  opens  to-day  in  this  county,  you 

20 


IMPRUDENCE 


see."  She  shrugged  her  pretty  shoulders :  "  And  the 
women  who  don't  shoot  make  the  first  field-luncheon  a 
function." 

She  turned,  nodded  her  adieux,  then,  over  her  shoul 
der,  casually :  "  If  you  haven't  an  appointment  with 
the  Sand-Man  before  dinner  you  may  find  me  in  the 
gun-room." 

"  I'll  be  there  in  about  three  minutes,"  he  said ; 
"  and  what  about  this  dog?  " — looking  down  at  the 
Sagamore  pup  who  stood  before  him,  wagging,  attentive, 
always  the  gentleman  to  the  tips  of  his  toes. 

Miss  Landis  laughed.  "  Take  him  to  your  room  if 
you  like.  Dogs  have  the  run  of  the  house." 

So  he  followed  a  servant  to  the  floor  above  where 
a  smiling  and  very  ornamental  maid  preceded  him 
through  a  corridor  and  into  that  heavy  wing  of  the 
house  which  fronted  the  sea. 

"  Tea  is  served  in  the  gun-room,  sir,"  said  the  pretty 
m,aid,  and  disappeared  to  give  place  to  a  melancholy  and 
silent  young  man  who  turned  on  the  bath,  laid  out  fresh 
raiment,  and  whispering,  "  Scotch  or  Irish,  sir?  "  pres- 
itly  effaced  himself. 

Before  he  quenched  his  own  thirst  Siward  filled  a 
bowl  and  set  it  on  the  floor,  and  it  seemed  as  though  the 
dog  would  never  finish  gulping  and  slobbering  in  the 
limpid  icy  water. 

"  It's  the  salt  air,  my  boy,"  commented  the  young 
man,  gravely  refilling  his  own  glass  as  though  accept 
ing  the  excuse  on  his  own  account. 

Then  man  and  beast  completed  ablutions  and  groom 
ing  and  filed  out  through  the  wide  corridor,  around  the 
gallery,  and  down  the  broad  stairway  to  the  gun-room — 
an  oaken  vaulted  place  illuminated  by  the  sun,  where 
mellow  lights  sparkled  on  glass-cased  rows  of  fowling 

21 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

pieces  and  rifles,  on  the  polished  antlers  of  shaggy 
moose  heads. 

Miss  Landis  sat  curled  up  in  a  cushioned  corner 
under  the  open  casement  panes,  offering  herself  a  cup  of 
tea.  She  looked  up,  nodding  invitation ;  he  found  a 
place  beside  her.  A  servant  whispered,  "  Scotch  or  Irish, 
sir,"  then  set  the  crystal  paraphernalia  at  his  elbow. 

He  said  something  about  the  salt  air,  casually ;  the 
girl  gazed  meditatively  at  space. 

The  sound  of  wheels  on  the  gravel  outside  aroused 
her  from  a  silence  which  had  become  a  brown  study ; 
and,  to  Siward,  presently,  she  said :  "  Here  endeth  our 
first  rendezvous." 

"  Then  let  us  arrange  another  immediately,"  he  said, 
stirring  the  ice  in  his  glass. 

The  girl  considered  him  with  speculative  eyes :  "  I 
shouldn't  exactly  know  what  to  do  with  you  for  the  next 
hour  if  I  didn't  abandon  you." 

"  Why  bother  to  do  anything  with  me  ?  Why  even 
give  yourself  the  trouble  of  deserting  me?  That  solves 
'the  problem." 

"  I  really  don't  mean  that  you  are  a  problem  to  me, 
Mr.  Siward,"  she  said,  amused ;  "  I  mean  that  I  am  going 
to  drive  again." 

"  I  see." 

"  No  you  don't  see  at  all.  There's  a  telegram ;  I'm 
not  driving  for  pleasure " 

She  had  not  meant  that  either,  and  it  annoyed  her 
that  she  had  expressed  herself  in  such  terms.  As  a  mat 
ter  of  fact,  at  the  telegraphed  request  of  Mr.  Quarrier, 
she  was  going  to  Black  Fells  Crossing  to  meet  his  train 
from  the  Lakes  and  drive  him  back  to  Shotover.  The 
drive,  therefore,  was  of  course  a  drive  for  pleasure. 

"  I  see,"  repeated  Siward  amiably. 


IMPRUDENCE 


"  Perhaps  you  do,"  she  observed,  rising  to  her  grace 
ful  height.  He  was  on  his  feet  at  once,  so  carelessly,  so 
good-humouredly  acquiescent  that  without  any  reason  at 
all  she  hesitated. 

"  I  had  meant  to  show  you  about — the  cliffs — the 
kennels  and  stables;  I'm  sorry,"  she  concluded,  lin 
gering. 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,"  he  rejoined  without  meaning 
anything  in  particular.  That  was  the  trouble,  what 
ever  he  said,  apparently  meant  so  much. 

With  the  agreeable  sensation  of  being  regretted,  she 
leisurely  gloved  herself,  then  walked  through  the  gun 
room  and  hall,  Siward  strolling  beside  her. 

The  dog  followed  them  as  they  turned  toward  the 
door  and  passed  out  across  the  terraced  veranda  to  the 
driveway  where  a  Tandem  cart  was  drawn  up,  fault 
lessly  appointed.  Quarrier's  mania  was  Tandem.  She 
thought  it  rather  nice  of  her  to  remember  this. 

She  inspected  the  ensemble  without  visible  interest 
for  a  few  moments;  the  wind  freshened  from  the  sea, 
fluttering  her  veil,  and  she  turned  toward  the  east  to  face 
it.  In  the  golden  splendour  of  declining  day  the  white 
sails  of  yachts  crowded  landward  on  the  last  leg  before 
beating  westward  into  Blue  Harbour;  a  small  white 
cruiser,  steaming  south,  left  a  mile  long  stratum  of  rose- 
tinted  smoke  hanging  parallel  to  the  horizon's  plane ;  the 
westering  sun  struck  sparks  from  her  bright-work. 

The  magic  light  on  land  and  water  seemed  to  fas 
cinate  the  girl;  she  had  walked  a  little  way  toward  the 
cliffs,  Siward  following  silently,  offering  no  comment 
on  the  beauty  of  sky  and  cliff.  As  they  halted  once 
more  the  enchantment  seemed  to  spread;  a  delicate  haze 
enveloped  the  sea ;  hints  of  rose  colour  tinted  the  waves ; 
over  the  uplands  a  pale  mauve  bloom  grew ;  the  sunlight 
3  23 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

turned  redder,  slanting  on  the  rocks,  and  every  kelp- 
covered  reef  became  a  spongy  golden  mound,  sprayed 
with  liquid  flame. 

They  had  turned  their  backs  to  the  Tandem;  the 
grooms  looked  after  them,  standing  motionless  at  the 
horses'  heads. 

"  Mr.  Siward,  this  is  too  fine  to  miss,"  she  said.  "  I 
will  walk  as  far  as  the  headland  with  you.  .  .  .  Please 
smoke  if  you  care  to." 

He  did  care  to;  several  matches  were  extinguished 
by  the  wind  until  she  spread  her  skirts  as  a  barrier ;  and 
kneeling  in  their  shelter  he  got  his  light. 

"  Tobacco  smoke  diluted  with  sea  breeze  is  delicious," 
she  said,  as  the  wind  whirled  the  aromatic  smoke  of  his 
cigarette  up  into  her  face.  "  Don't  move,  Mr.  Siward ; 
I  like  it;  there  is  to  me  always  a  faint  odour  of  sweet- 
brier  in  the  melange.  Did  you  ever  notice  it?  " 

The  bleeze-blown  conversation  became  fragmentary, 
veering  as  capriciously  as  the  purple  wind-flaws  that 
spread  across  the  shoals.  But  always  to  her  question 
or  comment  she  found  in  his  response  the  charm  of  fresh 
ness,  of  quick  intelligence,  or  of  a  humourous  and  idle 
perversity  which  stimulates  without  demanding. 

Once,  glancing  back  at  the  house  where  the  T-cart 
and  horses  stood,  she  said  that  she  had  better  return ; 
or  perhaps  she  only  thought  she  said  it,  for  he  made  no 
response  that  time.  And  a  few  moments  later  they 
reached  the  headland,  and  the  Atlantic  lay  below,  flow 
ing  azure  from  horizon  to  horizon — under  a  universe  of 
depthless  blue.  And  for  a  long  while  neither  spoke. 

With  her  the  spell  endured  until  conscience  began  to 
stir.  Then  she  awoke,  uneasy  as  always,  under  the 
shadow  of  restraint  or  pressure,  until  her  eyes  fell  on  him 
and  lingered. 

24 


IMPRUDENCE 


A  subtle  change  had  come  into  his  face ;  its  leanness 
struck  her  for  the  first  time;  that,  and  an  utter  detach 
ment  from  his  surroundings,  a  sombre  oblivion  to  every 
thing — and  to  her. 

How  curiously  had  his  face  altered,  how  shadowy  it 
had  grown,  effacing  the  charm  of  youth  in  it. 

The  slight  amusement  with  which  she  had  become 
conscious  of  her  own  personal  exclusion  grew  to  an  in 
terest  tinged  with  curiosity. 

The  interest  continued,  but  when  his  silence  became 
irksome  to  her  she  said  so  very  frankly.  His  absent 
eyes,  still  clouded,  met  hers,  unsmiling. 

"  I  hate  the  sea,"  he  said. 

"  You — hate  it !  "  she  repeated,  too  incredulous  to 
be  disappointed. 

"  There's  no  rest  in  it ;  it  tires.  A  man  who  plays 
with  it  must  be  on  his  guard  every  second.  To  spend  a 
lifetime  on  it  is  ridiculous — a  whole  life  of  intelligent 
effort,  against  perpetual,  brutal,  inanimate  resistance — 
one  endless  uninterrupted  fight — a  ceaseless  human 
manoeuvre  against  senseless  menace;  and  then  the  coun 
ter  attack  of  the  lifeless  monster,  the  bellowing  ad 
vance,  the  shock — and  no  battle  won — nothing  final, 
nothing  settled,  no!  only  the  same  eternal  nightmare 
of  surveillance,  the  same  sleepless  watch  for  stupid 
treachery." 

"  But — you  don't  have  to  fight  it !  "  she  said,  aston 
ished. 

"  No ;  but  it  is  no  secret — what  it  does  to  those  who 
do.  ...  Some  escape ;  but  only  by  dying  ashore  before 
it  gets  them.  That  is  the  way  some  of  us  reach  Heaven ; 
we  die  too  quick  for  the  Enemy  to  catch  us." 

He  was  laughing  when  she  said :  "  It  is  not  a  fight 
with  the  sea ;  it  is  the  battle  of  Life  itself  you  mean." 

25 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  Yes,  in  a  way,  the  battle  of  Life." 

"  Oh,  you  are  morbid  then.  Is  there  anybody  ever 
born  who  has  not  a  fight  on  his  hands  ?  " 

"  No ;  only  I  have  known  men  tired  out,  unfairly, 
before  life  had  declared  war  on  them." 

"  Just  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Oh,  something  about  fair  play — what  our  popular 
idol  summarises  as  a  '  square  deal  V  He  laughed 
again,  easily,  his  face  clearing. 

"  Nobody  worth  a  square  deal  ever  laments  because 
he  hasn't  had  it,"  she  said. 

"  I  dare  say  that's  true,  too,"  he  admitted  listlessly. 

"  Mr.  Siward,  exactly  what  did  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  of  men  I  knew ;  for  example  a  man 
who  through  generations  has  inherited  every  impulse 
and  desire  that  he  should  not  harbour — a  man  with 
intellect  enough  to  be  aware  of  it,  with  decency  enough 
to  desire  decency.  .  .  .  What  chance  has  he  with  the 
storms  which  have  been  brewing  for  him  even  before  he 
opened  his  eyes  on  earth?  Is  that  a  square  deal?  " 

The  troubled  concentration  of  her  face  was  reflected 
now  in  his  own;  the  wind  came  whipping  and  flicking 
at  them  from  league-wide  tossing  wastes ;  the  steady 
thunder  of  the  sea  accented  the  silence. 

She  said :  "  I  suppose  everybody  has  infinite  capacity 
for  decency  or  mischief.  I  know  that  I  have.  And  I 
fancy  that  this  capacity  always  remains,  no  matter  how 
moral  one's  life  may  be.  '  Watch  and  pray '  was  not 
addressed  to  the  guilty  alone,  Mr.  Siward." 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course.  As  for  the  balanced  capacity 
for  good  and  evil,  how  about  the  inherited  desire  for 
the  latter?" 

"  Who  is  free  from  that,  too?  Do  you  suppose  any 
body  really  desires  to  be  good  ?  " 

26 


IMPRUDENCE 


"  You  mean  most  people  are  so  afraid  not  to  be,  that 
virtue  becomes  a  habit?  " 

"  Perhaps.  It's  a  plain  business  proposition  any 
way.  It  pays." 

"  Celestial  insurance?  "  he  asked,  laughing. 

"  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Siward;  do  you?  " 

But  he,  turning  to  the  sea,  had  become  engrossed  in 
his  own  thoughts  again ;  and  again  she  was  first  curious, 
then  impatient  at  the  ease  with  which  he  excluded  her. 
She  remembered,  too,  that  the  cart  was  waiting ;  that  she 
had  scarcely  time  now  to  make  the  train. 

She  stood  irresolute,  inert,  disinclined  to  bestir  her 
self.  An  inborn  aptitude  for  drifting,  which  threatened 
to  become  a  talent  for  indecision,  had  always  alternated 
in  her  with  sudden  impulsive  conclusions ;  and  when  her 
pride  was  involved,  in  decisions  which  sometimes  scarcely 
withstood  the  analysis  of  reason. 

Physically  healthy,  mentally  unawakened,  sentimen 
tally  incredulous,  totally  ignorant  of  any  master  pas 
sion,  and  conventionally  drilled,  her  beauty  and  sweet 
temper  had  carried  her  easily  on  the  frothy  crest  of  her 
first  season,  over  the  eligible  and  ineligible  alike,  leav 
ing  her  at  Lenox,  a  rather  tired  and  breathless  girl,  in 
love  with  pleasure  and  the  world  which  treated  her  so 
well. 

The  death  of  her  mother  abroad  had  made  little  im 
pression  upon  her — her  uncle,  Major  Belwether,  having 
cared  for  her  since  her  father's  death  when  she  was  ten 
years  old.  So,  although  the  scandal  of  her  mother's  self- 
exile  had  been  in  a  measure  condoned  by  a  tardy  mar 
riage  to  the  man  for  whom  she  had  left  everything,  her 
daughter  had  grown  up  ignorant  of  any  particular  feel 
ing  for  a  mother  she  could  scarcely  remember. 

However,  she  wore  black  and  went  nowhere  for  the 
27 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

second  winter,  during  which  time  she  learned  a  great 
deal  concerning  the  unconventional  proclivities  of  the 
women  of  her  race  and  family,  enough  to  impress  her 
so  seriously  that  on  an  exaggerated  impulse  she  had  come 
to  one  of  her  characteristic  decisions. 

That  decision  was  to  break  the  unsavoury  record  at 
the  first  justifiable  opportunity.  And  the  opportunity 
came  in  the  shape  of  Quarrier.  As  though  wedlock 
were  actually  the  sanctuary  which  an  alarmed  nation 
pretends  it  to  be! 

Now,  approaching  the  threshold  of  a  third  and  last 
season,  and  having  put  away  her  almost  meaningless 
mourning,  there  had  stolen  into  her  sense  of  security 
something  irksome  in  the  promise  she  had  made  to  give 
Quarrier  a  definite  answer  before  winter. 

Perhaps  it  had  been  the  lack  of  interest  in  the  peo 
ple  at  Shotover,  perhaps  a  mental  review  of  her  ances 
tors'  capricious  records — perhaps  a  characteristic  im 
pulse  that  had  directed  a  telegram  to  Quarrier  after  a 
midnight  confab  with  Grace  Ferrall. 

However  it  may  have  been,  she  had  summoned  him. 
And  now  he  was  on  his  way  to  get  his  answer,  the  best 
whip,  the  most  eagerly  discussed,  and  one  of  the  wealth 
iest  unmarried  men  in  America. 

Lingering  irresolutely,  considering  with  idle  eyes  the 
shadows  lengthening  across  the  sun-shot  moorland,  the 
sound  of  Siward's  even  voice  aroused  her  from  a  medi 
tation  bordering  on  lassitude. 

She  answered  vaguely.  He  spoke  again;  all  the 
agreeable,  gentle,  humourous  charm  dominant  once 
more — releasing  her  from  the  growing  tension  of  her 
own  thoughts,  absolving  her  from  the  duty  of  immediate 
decision. 

"I  feel  curiously  lazy,"  she  said;  "perhaps  from 
28 


"The    conversation    veered    again    toward    the    mystery   of 
heredity." 


IMPRUDENCE 


our  long  drive."      She  seated  herself  on  the  turf.  "  Talk 
to  me,  Mr.  Siward — in  that  lazy  way  of  yours." 

What  he  had  to  say  proved  inconsequent  enough, 
an  irrelevant  suggestion  concerning  the  training  of  field- 
dogs  for  close  covert  work  and  the  reasons  for  not  break 
ing  such  dogs  on  quail.  Then  the  question  of  cross 
breeding  came  up,  and  he  gave  his  opinion  on  the 
qualities  of  "  droppers."  To  which  she  replied,  sleep 
ily;  and  the  conversation  veered  again  toward  the  mys 
tery  of  heredity,  and  the  hopelessness  of  escape  from  its 
laws  as  illustrated  now  by  the  Sagamore  pup,  galloping 
nose  in  the  wind,  having  scented  afar  the  traces  of  the 
forbidden  rabbit. 

"  His  ancestors  turned  'round  and  'round  to  flatten 
the  long  reeds  and  grasses  in  their  lairs  before  lying 
down,"  observed  Siward.  "  He  does  it,  too,  where  there 
is  nothing  to  flatten  out.  Did  you  ever  notice  how  many 
times  a  dog  turns  around  before  lying  down?  .  .  . 
And  there  goes  the  carefully  schooled  Sagamore,  chas 
ing  rabbits !  Why  ?  Because  his  wild  ancestors  chased 
rabbits.  .  .  .  Heredity?  It's  a  steady,  unseen,  pull 
ing,  dragging  force.  Like  lightning,  too,  it  shatters, 
sometimes,  where  there  is  resistance." 

"  Do  you  mean,  Mr.  Siward,  that  heredity  is  an  ex 
cuse  for  moral  weakness  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Those  inheriting  nothing  of  evil 
say  it  is  no  excuse." 

"  It  is  no  excuse." 

"  You  speak  with  authority,"  he  said. 

"  With  more  than  you  are  aware  of,"  she  murmured, 
not  meaning  to  say  it. 

She  stood  up  impulsively,  her  fresh  face  turned  to 
the  distant  house,  her  rounded  young  figure  poised  in 
relief  against  the  sky. 

29 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  Inherited  or  not,  idleness,  procrastination,  are  my 
besetting  sins.  Can't  you  suggest  the  remedy,  Mr. 
Siward?" 

"  But  they  are  only  the  thieves  of  Time ;  and  we  kill 
the  poor  old  gentleman." 

"  Leagued  assassins,"  she  repeated  pensively. 

Her  gown  had  caught  on  the  cliff  briers ;  he  knelt  to 
release  it,  she  looking  down,  noting  an  ugly  tear  in  the 
fabric. 

"  Payment  for  my  iniquities — the  first  instalment," 
she  said,  still  looking  down  over  his  shoulder  and  watch 
ing  his  efforts  to  release  her.  "  Thank  you,  Mr.  Siward. 
I  think  we  ought  to  start,  don't  you  ?  " 

He  straightened  up,  smiling,  awaiting  her  further 
pleasure.  Her  pleasure  being  capricious,  she  seated 
herself  again,  saying :  "  What  I  meant  to  say  was  this : 
evils  that  spring  from  heredity  are  no  excuse  for  mis 
conduct  in  people  of  our  sort.  Environment,  not  he 
redity,  counts.  And  it's  our  business,  who  have  every 
chance  in  the  world,  to  make  good !  " 

He  looked  down,  amused  at  the  piquant  incongruity 
of  voice  and  vernacular. 

"  What  time  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  irrelevantly. 

He  glanced  at  his  watch.  She  turned  her  eyes 
toward  the  level  sun,  conscious,  and  a  little  conscience- 
stricken  that  it  was  too  late  for  her  to  drive  to  Black 
Fells  Crossing — unless  she  started  at  once. 

The  sun  hung  low  over  the  pines;  all  the  scrubby 
foreland  ran  molten  gold  in  every  tufted  furrow;  flock 
after  flock  of  twittering  little  birds  whirled  into  the  briers 
and  out  again,  scattering  inland  into  undulating  flight. 

The  zenith  turned  shell  pink ;  through  clotted  shoals 
of  clouds  spread  spaces  of  palest  green  like  calm  lakes 
in  the  sky. 

30 


IMPRUDENCE 


It  grew  stiller ;  the  wind  went  down  with  the  sun. 

Doubtless  he  had  forgotten  to  tell  her  the  time;  she 
had  almost  forgotten  that  she  had  asked  him.  With  the 
silence  of  sunset  a  languor,  the  indolence  of  content, 
crept  over  her;  she  saw  him  close  his  watch  with  the 
absent-minded  air  which  she  already  associated  with 
him,  and  she  let  the  question  go  from  sheer  disinclina 
tion  for  the  effort  of  repetition — let  the  projected  drive 
go — acquiescent,  content  that  matters  shape  themselves 
without  any  interference  from  her.  The  sense  of  ease, 
of  physical  well-being  invaded  her  with  an  agreeable 
relaxation  as  though  tension  somewhere  had  slack 
ened. 

They  chatted  on,  casually,  impersonally,  in  rather 
subdued  tones.  The  dog  returned  now  and  then  to  see 
that  all  was  well.  All  was  well  enough,  it  appeared, 
for  she  sat  beside  Siward,  quite  content,  knees  clasped  in 
her  hands,  exchanging  impressions  of  life  with  a  man 
who  so  far  had  been  sympathetically  considerate  in  de 
manding  from  her  no  intellectual  effort. 

The  conversation  drifted  illogically;  sometimes  he 
stirred  her  to  amusement,  even  a  hushed  laughter ;  some 
times  she  smilingly  agreed  with  his  views,  sometimes 
she  let  them  go,  uncriticised ;  or,  intent  on  her  own  ideas, 
shook  her  small  head  in  amused  disapproval. 

The  stillness  over  all,  the  deepening  mellow  light, 
the  blessed  indolence  of  the  young  world — and  their  few 
years  in  it — Youth!  That  was  perhaps  the  key  to  it 
all,  after  all. 

"  To-morrow,"  she  mused  aloud,  knees  cradled  in  her 
clasped  fingers,  "  to-morrow  they'll  shoot — with  great 
circumstance  and  fuss — a  few  native  woodcock — there's 
no  flight  yet  from  the  north! — a  few  grouse,  fewer 
snipe,  a  stray  duck  or  two.  Others  will  drive  motor  cars 

31 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

over  bad  roads ;  others  will  ride,  sail,  golf — anything  to 
kill  the  eternal  enemy." 

"And  you?" 

"  Je  n'en  sais  rien,  monsieur." 

"  Mais  je  voudrais  savoir." 

"Pourquoi?" 

"  To  lay  a  true  course  by  the  stars  " ;  he  looked  at 
her  blue  eyes  and  she  laughed  easily  under  the  laughing 
flattery. 

"  You  must  seek  another  compass — to-morrow,"  she 
said.  Then  it  occurred  to  her  that  nobody  could  guess 
her  decision  in  regard  to  Quarrier ;  and  she  partly  raised 
her  eyes,  looking  at  him,  indolent  speculation  under  the 
white  lids. 

She  liked  him  already ;  in  fact  she  had  liked  few  men 
as  well  on  such  brief  acquaintance. 

"  You  know  the  majority  of  the  people  here,  or 
coming,  don't  you?  "  she  inquired. 

"Who  are  they?" 

She  began:  "  The  Leroy  Mortimers?  " 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  Lord  Alderdene  and  Captain  Voucher,  and  the 
Page  twins  and  Marion  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Rena  Bonnesdel,  the  Tassel  girl,  Agatha  Caith 
ness,  Mrs.  Vendenning — all  sorts,  all  sets."  And,  with 
an  effort :  "  If  I'm  to  drive,  I  should  like — to — to  know 
what  time  it  is  ?  " 

He  informed  her;  and  she,  too  indolent  to  pretend 
surprise,  and  finding  reproach  easier,  told  him  that  he 
had  no  business  to  permit  her  to  forget. 

His  smiling  serenity  under  the  rebuke  aroused  in  her 
a  slight  resentment  as  though  he  had  taken  something 
for  granted. 


IMPRUDENCE 


Besides,  she  had  grown  uneasy ;  she  had  wired  Quar- 
rier,  saying  she  would  meet  him  and  drive  him  over.  He 
had  replied  at  once,  naming  his  train.  He  was  an  exact 
man  and  expected  method  and  precision  in  others.  She 
didn't  exactly  know  how  it  might  affect  him  if  his  rea 
sonable  demand  was  unsatisfied.  She  did  not  know  him 
very  well  yet,  only  well  enough  to  be  aware  that  he  was 
a  gentleman  so  precisely,  so  judiciously  constructed, 
that,  contemplating  his  equitable  perfections,  her  awe 
and  admiration  grew  as  one  on  whom  dawns  the  exquisite 
adjustments  of  an  almost  human  machine. 

And,  thinking  of  him  now,  she  again  made  up  her 
mind  to  give  him  the  answer  which  he  now  had  every 
reason  to  expect  from  her.  This  decision  appeared  to 
lubricate  her  conscience ;  it  ran  more  smoothly  now,  emit 
ting  fewer  creaks. 

"  You  say  that  you  know  Mr.  Quarrier?  "  she  began 
thoughtfully. 

"  Not  well." 

"  I — hope  you  will  like  him,  Mr.  Siward." 

"  I  do  not  think  he  likes  me,  Miss  Landis.  He  has 
reasons  not  to." 

She  looked  up,  suddenly  remembering:  "  Oh — since 
that  scrape?  What  has  Mr.  Quarrier  to  do — "  She 
did  not  finish  the  sentence.  A  troubled  silence  followed ; 
she  was  trying  to  remember  the  details — something  she 
had  paid  small  attention  to  at  the  time — something  so 
foreign  to  her,  so  distant  from  her  comprehension  that 
it  had  not  touched  her  closely  enough  for  her  to  remem 
ber  exactly  what  this  young  man  might  have  done  to 
forfeit  the  good-will  of  Howard  Quarrier. 

She  looked  at  Siward;  it  was  impossible  that  any 
thing  very  bad  could  come  from  such  a  man.  And, 
pursuing  her  reasoning  aloud :  "  It  couldn't  have  been 

33 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

very  awful,"  she  argued ;  "  something  foolish  about  an 
actress,  was  it  not?  And  that  could  not  concern  Mr. 
Quarrier." 

"  I  thought  you  did  know;  I  thought  you — remem 
bered — while  you  were  driving  me  over  from  the  sta 
tion — that  I  was  dropped  from  my  club." 

She  flushed  up :  "  Oh ! — but — what  had  Mr.  Quar 
rier  to  do  with  that?  " 

"  He  is  a  governor  of  that  club." 

"  You  mean  that  Mr.  Quarrier  had  you — dropped  ?  " 

"What  else  could  he  do?  A  man  who  is  idiot 
enough  to  risk  making  his  own  club  notorious,  must 
take  the  consequences.  And  they  say  I  took  that  risk. 
Therefore  Mr.  Quarrier,  Major  Belwether-^all  the  gov 
ernors  did  their  duty.  I — I  naturally  conclude  that  no 
governor  of  the  Patroons  Club  feels  very  kindly  toward 
me." 

Miss  Landis  sat  very  still,  her  small  head  bent,  a 
flush  still  brightening  her  fair  face. 

She  recalled  a  few  of  the  details  now — the  scan 
dal — something  of  the  story.  Which  particular  actress 
it  was  she  could  not  remember;  but  some  men  who  had 
dined  too  freely  had  made  the  wager,  and  this  boy  sit 
ting  beside  her  had  accepted  it — and  won  it,  by  bring 
ing  into  the  sacred  precincts  of  the  Patroons  Club  a 
foolish,  shameless  girl  disguised  in  a  man's  evening  dress. 

That  was  bad  enough ;  that  somebody  promptly  dis 
covered  it  was  worse ;  but  worst  of  all  was  the  publicity, 
the  club's  name  smirched,  the  young  man  expelled  from 
one  of  the  two  best  clubs  in  the  metropolis. 

To  read  of  such  things  in  the  columns  of  a  daily 
paper  had  meant  little  to  her  except  to  repell  her;  to 
hear  it  mentioned  among  people  of  her  own  sort  had  left 
her  incurious  and  indifferent.  But  now  she  saw  it  in  a 

34 


IMPRUDENCE 


new  light,  with  the  man  who  had  figured  in  it  seated 
beside  her.  Did  such  men  as  he — such  attractive,  well- 
bred,  amusing  men  as  he — do  that  sort  of  thing? 

There  he  sat,  hat  off,  the  sun  touching  his  short, 
thick  hair  which  waved  a  little  at  the  temples — a  boyish 
mould  to  head  and  shoulders,  a  cleanly  outlined  cheek 
and  chin,  a  thoroughbred  ear  set  close — a  good  face. 
What  sort  of  a  man,  then,  was  a  woman  to  feel  at  ease 
with  ?  What  eye,  what  mouth,  what  manner,  what  bear 
ing  was  a  woman  to  trust? 

"  7s  that  the  kind  of  man  you  are,  Mr.  Siward?  " 
she  said  impulsively. 

"  It  appears  that  I  was ;  I  don't  know  what  I  am — 
or  may  be." 

"  The  pity  of  it !  "  she  said,  still  swayed  by  impulse. 
"  Why  did  you  do — didn't  you  know — realize  what  you 
were  doing — bringing  discredit  on  your  own  club  ?  " 

"  I  was  in  no  condition  to  know,  Miss  Landis." 

The  crude  brutality  of  the  expression  might  merely 
have  hurt  or  disgusted  her  had  she  been  less  intelligent. 
Nor,  as  it  was,  did  she  fully  understand  why  he  chose  to 
use  it — unless  that  he  meant  it  in  self -punishment. 

"  It's  rather  shameful !  "  she  said  hotly. 

"  Yes,"  he  assented ;  "  it's  a  bad  beginning." 

"  A — beginning!     Do  you  mean  to  go  on  ?  " 

He  did  not  reply ;  his  head  was  partly  turned  from 
her.  She  sat  silent  for  a  while.  The  dog  had  returned 
to  lie  at  Siward's  feet,  its  brown  eyes  tirelessly  watching 
the  man  it  had  chosen  for  its  friend ;  and  the  man,  with 
out  turning  his  eyes,  dropped  one  hand  on  the  dog's  head, 
caressing  the  silky  ears. 

Some  sentimentalist  had  once  said  that  no  man  who 
cared  for  animals  could  be  wholly  bad.  Inexperience 
inclined  her  to  believe  it.  Then  too,  she  had  that  in- 

35 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

clination  for  overlooking  offences  committed  against  pre 
cept,  which  appears  to  be  one  of  those  edifying  human 
traits  peculiar  to  neither  sex  and  common  to  both.  Be 
sides,  her  knowledge  of  such  matters  was  as  vague  as 
her  mind  was  healthy  and  body  wholesome.  Men  who 
dined  incautiously  were  not  remarkable  for  their  rarity ; 
the  actress  habit,  being  incomprehensible  to  her,  meant 
nothing ;  and  she  said,  innocently :  "  What  men  like  you 
can  find  attractive  in  a  common  woman  I  do  not  under 
stand;  there  are  plenty  of  pretty  women  of  your  own 
sort.  The  actress  cult  is  beyond  my  comprehension;  I 
only  know  it  is  generally  condoned.  But  it  is  not  for 
such  things  that  we  drop  men,  Mr.  Siward.  You  know 
that,  of  course." 

"  For  what  do  you  drop  men?  " 

"  For  falsehood,  deception,  any  dishonesty." 

"  And  you  don't  drop  a  man  when  you  read  in  the 
papers  that  one  of  the  two  best  clubs  in  town  has  expelled 
him?" 

She  gave  him  a  troubled  glance ;  and,  naively :  "  But 
you  are  still  a  member  of  the  other,  are  you  not  ?  " 
Then  hardening :  "  It  was  common !  common ! — thor 
oughly  disgraceful  and  incomprehensible !  " — and  with 
every  word  uttered  insensibly  warming  in  her  heart  to 
ward  him  whom  she  was  chastening ;  "  it  was  not  even 
bad — it  was  worse  than  being  simply  bad;  it  was 
stupid!" 

He  nodded,  one  hand  slowly  caressing  the  dog's  head 
where  it  lay  across  his  knees. 

She  watched  him  a  moment,  hesitated,  then  smiling  a 
little :  "  So  now  I  know  the  worst  about  you ;  do  I  not?  " 
she  concluded. 

He  did  not  answer;  she  waited,  the  smile  still  curv 
ing  her  red  mouth.  Had  she  been  too  severe?  She 

36 


IMPRUDENCE 


wondered.  "  You  may  help  me  to  my  feet,"  she  said 
sweetly.  She  was  very  young. 

He  rose  at  once,  holding  out  his  hands  to  aid  her  in 
that  pleasantly  impersonal  manner  so  suited  to  him ;  and 
now  they  stood  together  in  the  purple  dusk  of  the  up 
lands — two  people  young  enough  to  take  one  another 
seriously. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  something,"  she  said,  facing  him, 
white  hands  loosely  linked  behind  her.  "  I  don't  exactly 
understand  how  it  has  happened,  but  you  know  as  well  as 
I  do  that  we  have  formed  a — an  acquaintance — the  sort 
that  under  normal  conditions  requires  a  long  time  and 
several  conventional  and  preliminary  chapters.  ...  I 
should  like  to  know  what  you  think  of  our  performance." 

"  I  think,"  he  said  laughing,  "  that  it  is  charming." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  men  usually  find  the  unconventional  agree 
able.  What  I  want  to  know  is  why  I  find  it  so,  too?  " 

"  Do  you  ?  "     A  dull  colour  stained  his  cheek-bones. 

"  Certainly  I  do.  Is  it  because  I've  had  a  delightful 
chance  to  admonish  a  sinner — and  be — just  a  little  sorry 
— that  he  had  made  such  a  silly  spectacle  of  himself?  " 

He  laughed,  wincing  a  trifle. 

"  Hence  this  agreeably  righteous  glow  suffusing  me," 
she  concluded.  "  So  now  that  I  have  answered  my  own 
question,  I  think  that  we  had  better  go.  .  .  .  Don't 
you?" 

They  walked  for  a  while,  subdued,  soberly  picking 
their  path  through  the  dusk.  After  a  few  moments  she 
began  to  feel  doubtful,  a  little  uneasy,  partly  from  a 
reaction  which  was  natural,  partly  because  she  was  not 
at  all  sure  what  either  Quarrier  or  Major  Belwether 
would  think  of  the  terms  she  was  already  on  with  Si- 
ward.  Suppose  they  objected?  She  had  never  thwarted 
either  of  these  gentlemen.  Besides  she  already  had  a 

37 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

temporary  interest  in  Siward — the  interest  that  women 
always  cherish,  quite  unconsciously,  for  the  man  whose 
shortcomings  they  have  consented  to  overlook. 

As  they  crossed  the  headland,  through  the  deepening 
dusk  the  acetylene  lamps  on  a  cluster  of  motor  cars 
spread  a  blinding  light  across  the  scrub.  The  windows 
of  Shotover  House  were  brilliantly  illuminated. 

"  Our  shooting-party  has  returned,"  she  said. 

They  crossed  the  drive  through  the  white  glare  of 
the  motor  lamps ;  people  were  passing,  grooms  with  dogs 
and  guns  and  fluffy  bunches  of  game-birds,  several 
women  in  motor  costumes,  veils  afloat,  a  man  or  two  in 
shooting-tweeds  or  khaki. 

As  they  entered  the  hall  together,  she  turned  to  him, 
an  indefinable  smile  curving  her  lips ;  then,  with  a  little 
nod,  friendly  and  sweet,  she  left  him  standing  at  the 
open  door  of  the  gun-room. 


CHAPTER    III 

SHOTOVEB 

THE  first  person  he  encountered  in  the  gun-room  was 
Quarrier,  who  favoured  him  with  an  expressionless  stare, 
then  with  a  bow,  quite  perfunctory  and  non-committal. 
It  was  plain  enough  that  he  had  not  expected  to  meet 
Siward  at  Shotover  House. 

Kemp  Ferrall,  a  dark,  stocky,  active  man  of  forty, 
was  in  the  act  of  draining  a  glass,  when,  through  the 
bottom  he  caught  sight  of  Siward.  He  finished  in  a 
gulp,  and  advanced,  one  muscular  hand  outstretched : 
"  Hello,  Stephen !  Heard  you'd  arrived,  tried  the 
Scotch,  and  bolted  with  Sylvia  Landis!  That's  all 
right,  too,  but  you  should  have  come  for  the  opening 
day.  Lots  of  native  woodcock — eh,  Blinky?  "  turning 
to  Lord  Alderdene ;  and  again  to  Siward :  "  You 
know  all  these  fellows — Mortimer  yonder — "  There 
was  the  slightest  ring  in  his  voice ;  and  Leroy  Mortimer, 
red-necked,  bulky,  and  heavy  eyed,  emptied  his  glass  and 
came  over,  followed  by  Lord  Alderdene  blinking  madly 
through  his  shooting-goggles  and  showing  all  his  teeth 
like  a  pointer  with  a  "  tic."  Captain  Voucher,  a  gen 
tleman  with  the  vivid  colouring  of  a  healthy  groom  on  a 
cold  day,  came  up,  followed  by  the  Page  boys,  Willis 
and  Gordon,  who  shook  hands  shyly,  enchanted  to  be  on 
easy  terms  with  the  notorious  Mr.  Siward.  And  last  of 
all  Tom  O'Hara  arrived,  reeking  of  the  saddle  and  clink 
ing  a  pair  of  trooper's  spurs  over  the  floor — relics  of  his 
bloodless  Porto  Rico  campaign  with  Squadron  A. 
4  39 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

It  was  patent  to  every  man  present  that  the  Kemp 
Ferralls  had  determined  to  ignore  Siward's  recent  fool 
ishness,  which  indicated  that  he  might  reasonably  ex 
pect  the  continued  good-will  of  several  sets,  the  orbits  of 
which  intersected  in  the  social  system  of  his  native  city. 
Indeed,  the  few  qualified  to  snub  him  cared  nothing 
about  the  matter,  and  it  was  not  likely  that  anybody 
else  would  take  the  initiative  in  being  disagreeable  to  a 
young  man,  the  fortunes  and  misfortunes  of  whose  race 
were  part  of  the  history  of  Manhattan  Island.  Si- 
wards,  good  or  bad,  were  a  matter  of  course  in  New 
York. 

So  everybody  in  the  gun-room  was  civil  enough,  and 
he  chose  Scotch  and  found  a  seat  beside  Alderdene,  who 
sat  biting  at  a  smoky  pipe  and  fingering  a  tumbler  of 
smokier  Scotch,  blinking  away  like  mad  through  his 
shooting-goggles  at  everybody. 

"  These  little  brown  snipe  you  call  woodcock,"  he 
began ;  "  we  bagged  nine  brace,  d'you  see  ?  But  of  all 
the  damnable  bogs  and  covers " 

"  Rotten,"  said  Mortimer  thickly ;  "  Ferrall,  you're 
all  calf  and  biceps,  and  it's  well  enough  for  you  to  go 
floundering  into  bogs " 

"  Where  do  you  expect  to  find  native  woodcock  ?  " 
demanded  Ferrall,  laughing. 

"  On  the  table  hereafter,"  growled  Mortimer. 

"  Oh,  go  and  pot  Beverly  Plank's  tame  pheasants," 
retorted  Ferrall  amiably ;  "  Captain  Voucher  had  a 
blank  day,  but  he  isn't  kicking." 

"  Not  I,"  said  Voucher ;  "  the  sport  is  capital — if 
one  can  manage  to  hit  the  beggars " 

"  Oh,  everybody  misses  in  snap-shooting,"  observed 
Ferrall ;  "  that  is,  everybody  except  Stephen  Siward 
with  his  unholy  left  barrel.  Crack!  and,"  turning  to 

40 


SHOTOFER 


Alderdene,  "  it's  like  taking  money  from  you,  Blinky — 
which  reminds  me  that  we've  time  for  a  little  Preference 
before  dressing." 

His  squinting  lordship  declined  and  took  an  easier 
position  in  his  chair,  extending  a  pair  of  little  bandy 
legs  draped  in  baggy  tweed  knickerbockers  and  heather- 
spats.  Mortimer,  industriously  distending  his  skin  with 
whiskey,  reached  for  the  decanter.  The  aromatic  per 
fume  of  the  spirits  aroused  Siward,  and  he  instinctively 
nodded  his  desire  to  a  servant. 

"  This  salt  air  keeps  one  thirsty,"  he  observed  to  Fer- 
rall ;  then  something  in  his  host's  expression  arrested  the 
glass  at  his  lips.  He  had  already  been  using  the  de 
canter  a  good  deal ;  except  Mortimer,  nobody  was  doing 
that  sort  of  thing  as  freely  as  he. 

He  set  his  glass  on, the  table  thoughtfully;  a  tinge 
of  colour  had  crept  into  his  lean  cheeks. 

Ferrall,  too,  suddenly  uncomfortable,  stood  up  say 
ing  something  about  dressing ;  several  men  arose  a  trifle 
stiffly,  feeling  in  every  joint  the  result  of  the  first  day's 
shooting  after  all  those  idle  months.  Mortimer  got  up 
with  an  unfeigned  groan;  Siward  followed,  leaving  his 
glass  untouched. 

One  or  two  other  men  came  in  from  the  billiard-room. 
All  greeted  Siward  amiably — all  excepting  one  who  may 
not  have  seen  him — an  elderly,  pink,  soft  gentleman 
with  white  downy  chop-whiskers  and  the  profile  of  a 
benevolent  buck  rabbit. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Major  Belwether?  "  said  Siward  in 
a  low  voice  without  offering  his  hand. 

Then  Major  Belwether  saw  him,  bless  you!  yes 
indeed !  And  though  Siward  continued  not  to  offer  his 
hand,  Major  Belwether  meant  to  have  it,  bless  your 
heart!  And  he  fussed  and  fussed  and  beamed  cor- 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

diality  until  he  secured  it  in  his  plump  white  fingers  and 
pressed  it  effusively. 

There  was  something  about  his  soft,  warm  hands 
which  had  always  reminded  Siward  of  the  temperature 
and  texture  of  a  newly  hatched  bird.  It  had  been  some 
time  since  he  had  shaken  hands  with  Major  Belwether; 
it  was  apparent  that  the  bird  had  not  aged  any. 

"  And  now  for  the  shooting!  "  said  the  Major  with 
an  arch  smile.  "  Now  for  the  stag  at  bay  and  the  wind 
ing  horn — 

'  Where  sleeps  the  moon 
On  Mona's  rill ' 

Eh,  Siward? 

'  And  here's  to  the  hound 
With  his  nose  upon  the  ground ' 

Eh,  my  boy?  That  reminds  me  of  a  story — "  He 
chuckled  and  chuckled,  his  lambent  eyes  suffused  with 
mirth ;  and  slipping  his  arm  through  the  pivot-sleeve  of 
Lord  Alderdene's  shooting-jacket,  hooking  the  other  in 
Siward's  reluctant  elbow,  and  driving  Mortimer  ahead 
of  him,  he  went  garrulously  away  up  the  stairs,  his  lord 
ship's  bandy  little  legs  trotting  beside  him,  the  soaking 
gaiters  and  shoes  slopping  at  every  step. 

Mortimer,  his  mottled  skin  now  sufficiently  distended, 
greeted  the  story  with  a  yawn  from  ear  to  ear ;  his  lord 
ship,  blinking  madly,  burst  into  that  remarkable  laugh 
which  seemed  to  reveal  the  absence  of  certain  vocal  cords 
requisite  to  perfect  harmony ;  and  Siward  smiled  in  his 
listless,  pleasant  way,  and  turned  off  down  his  corridor, 
unaware  that  the  Sagamore  pup  was  following  close  at 
his  heels  until  he  heard  Quarrier's  even,  colourless  voice : 
"  Ferrall,  would  you  be  good  enough  to  send  Sagamore 
to  your  kennels  ?  " 

42 


SHOTOYER 


"  Oh — he's  your  dog !  I  forgot,"  said  Siward  turn 
ing  around. 

Quarrier  looked  at  him,  pausing  a  moment. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  coldly,  "  he's  my  dog." 

For  a  fraction  of  a  second  the  two  men's  eyes  encoun 
tered  ;  then  Siward  glanced  at  the  dog,  and  turned  on  his 
heel  with  the  slightest  shrug.  And  that  is  all  there  was 
to  the  incident — an  anxious,  perplexed  puppy  lugged 
off  by  a  servant,  turning,  jerking,  twisting,  resisting, 
looking  piteously  back  as  his  unwilling  feet  slid  over 
the  polished  floor. 

So  Siward  walked  on  alone  through  the  long  eastern 
wing  to  his  room  overlooking  the  sea.  He  sat  down  on 
the  edge  of  his  bed,  glancing  at  the  clothing  laid  out 
for  him.  He  felt  tired  and  disinclined  for  the  exertion 
of  undressing.  The  shades  were  up ;  night  quicksilvered 
the  window-panes  so  that  they  were  like  a  dark  mirror 
reflecting  his  face.  He  inspected  his  darkened  features 
curiously;  the  blurred  and  sombre-tinted  visage  re 
turned  the  stare. 

"  Not  a  man  at  all — the  shadow  of  a  man,"  he  said 
aloud — "  with  no  will,  no  courage — always  putting  off 
the  battle,  always  avoiding  conclusions,  always  skulking. 
What  chance  is  there  for  a  man  like  that?  " 

As  one  who  raises  a  glass  to  drink  wine  and  unex 
pectedly  finds  water,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  disgust 
edly  and  got  up.  A  bath  followed ;  he  dressed  leisurely, 
and  was  pacing  the  room,  fussing  with  his  collar,  wrhen 
Ferrall  knocked  and  entered,  finding  a  seat  on  the  bed. 

"  Stephen,"  he  said  bluntly,  "  I  haven't  seen  you  since 
that  break  of  yours  at  the  club." 

"  Rotten,  wasn't  it?  "  commented  Siward,  tying  his 
tie. 

"  Perfectly.  cOf  course  it  doesn't  make  any  differ- 
43 


THE    FIGHTING    CHANCE 

ence  to  Grace  or  to  me,  but  I  fancy  you've  already  heard 
from  it." 

"  Oh,  yes.  All  I  care  about  is  how  my  mother  took 
it." 

"  Of  course ;  she  was  cut  up  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  know  how  she  would  look  at  a  thing  of 
that  sort;  not  that  any  of  the  nine  and  seventy  jarring 
sets  would  care,  but  those  few  thousands  invading  the 
edges,  butting  in — half  or  three-quarters  inside — are 
the  people  who  can't  afford  to  overlook  the  victim  of  a 
fashionable  club's  displeasure — those,  and  a  woman  like 
my  mother,  and  several  other  decent-minded  people  who 
happen  to  count  in  town." 

Ferrall,  his  legs  swinging  busily,  thought  again; 
then:  "  Who  was  the  girl,  Stephen?  " 

"  I  don't  think  the  papers  mentioned  her  name," 
said  Siward  gravely. 

"  Oh — I  beg  your  pardon ;  I  thought  she  was  some 
notorious  actress — everybody  said  so.  ...  Who  were 
those  callow  fools  who  put  you  up  to  it?  ...  Never 
mind  if  you  don't  care  to  tell.  But  it  strikes  me  they 
are  candidates  for  club  discipline  as  well  as  you.  It 
was  up  to  them  to  face  the  governors  I  think " 

"  No,  I  think  not." 

Ferrall,  legs  swinging  busily,  considered  him. 

"  Too  bad,"  he  mused ;  "  they  need  not  have  dropped 
you " 

"  Oh,  they  had  to.  But  as  long  as  the  Lenox  takes 
no  action  I  can  live  that  down." 

Ferrall  nodded :  "  I  came  in  to  say  something — a 
message  from  Grace — confound  it !  what  was  it  ?  Oh — 
could  you — before  dinner — now — just  sit  down  and 
with  that  infernal  facility  of  yours  make  a  sketch  of  a 
man  chasing  a  gun-shy  dog?  " 

44 


SHOTOFER 


"  Why  yes— if  Mrs.  Ferrall  wishes " 

He  walked  over  to  the  desk  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  sat 
down,  drew  a  blank  sheet  of  paper  toward  him,  and, 
dipping  his  pen,  drew  carelessly  a  gun-shy  setter  dog 
rushing  frantically  across  the  stubble,  and  after  him, 
bare-headed,  gun  in  hand,  the  maddest  of  men. 

"  Put  a  Vandyke  beard  on  him,"  grinned  Ferrall  over 
his  shoulder.  "  There !  O  Lord !  but  you  have  hit  it ! 
Put  a  ticked  saddle  on  the  cur — there !  " 

"  Who  is  this  supposed  to  be?  "  began  Siward,  look 
ing  up.  But  "  Wait !  "  chuckled  his  host,  seizing  the 
still  wet  sketch,  and  made  for  the  door. 

Siward  strolled  into  the  bath-room,  washed  a  spot  or 
two  of  ink  from  his  fingers,  returned  and  buttoned  his 
waistcoat,  then,  completing  an  unhurried  toilet,  went  out 
and  down  the  stairway  to  the  big  living-room.  There 
were  two  or  three  people  there — Mrs.  Leroy  Mortimer, 
very  fetching  with  her  Japanese-like  colouring,  black 
hair  and  eyes  that  slanted  just  enough;  Rena  Bonnes- 
del,  smooth,  violet-eyed,  blonde,  and  rather  stunning  in 
a  peculiarly  innocent  way;  Miss  Caithness,  very  pale 
and  slimly  attractive;  and  the  Page  boys,  Willis  and 
Gordon,  delightfully  shy  and  interested,  and  having  a 
splendid  time  with  any  woman  who  could  afford  the  in 
tellectual  leisure. 

Siward  spoke  pleasantly  to  them  all.  Other  people 
drifted  down — Marion  Page  who  looked  like  a  school- 
marm  and  rode  like  a  demon ;  Eileen  Shannon,  pink  and 
white  as  a  thorn  blossom,  with  the  deuce  to  pay  lurking 
in  her  grey  eyes ;  Kathryn  Tassel  and  Mrs.  Vendenning 
whom  he  did  not  know,  and  finally  his  hostess  Grace  Fer 
rall  with  her  piquant,  almost  boyish,  freckled  face  and 
sweet  frank  eyes  and  the  figure  of  an  adolescent. 

She  gave  Siward  one  pretty  sun-browned  hand  and 
45 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

laid  the  other  above  his,  holding  it  a  moment  in  her 
light  clasp. 

"  Stephen !  Stephen !  "  she  said  under  her  breath, 
"  it's  because  I've  a  few  things  to  scold  you  about  that 
I've  asked  you  to  Shotover." 

"  I  suppose  I  know,"  he  said. 

"  I  should  hope  you  do.  I've  a  letter  to-night  from 
your  mother." 

"  From  my  mother?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  go  over  it — with  me — if  we  can  find 
a  minute  after  dinner."  She  released  his  hand,  turning 
partly  around :  "  Kemp,  dinner's  been  announced,  so  cut 
that  dog  story  in  two!  Will  3^ou  give  me  your  arm 
Ma j  or  Belwether  ?  Howard !  " — to  her  cousin,  Mr. 
Quarrier,  who  turned  from  Miss  Landis  to  listen — "  will 
you  please  try  to  recollect  whom  you  are  to  take  in — and 
do  it?  "  And,  as  she  passed  Siward,  in  a  low  voice,  mis 
chievous  and  slangy :  "  Sylvia  Landis  for  yours — as  she 
says  she  didn't  have  enough  of  you  on  the  cliffs." 

The  others  appeared  to  know  how  to  pair  according 
to  some  previous  notice.  Siward  turned  to  Sylvia  Landis 
with  the  pleasure  of  his  good  fortune  so  plainly  visible 
in  his  face,  that  her  own  brightened  in  response. 

"  You  see,"  she  said  gaily,  "  you  cannot  escape  me. 
There  is  no  use  in  looking  wildly  at  Agatha  Caith 
ness  " — he  wasn't — "  or  pretending  you're  pleased," 
slipping  her  rounded,  bare  arm  through  the  arm  he 
offered.  "  You  can't  guess  what  I've  done  to-night — no 
body  can  guess  except  Grace  Ferrall  and  one  other  per 
son.  And  if  you  try  to  look  happy  beside  me,  I  may  tell 
you — somewhere  between  sherry  and  cognac — Oh,  yes  ; 
I've  done  two  things :  I  have  your  dog  for  you !  " 

"  Not  Sagamore?  "  he  said  incredulously  as  he  was 
seating  her. 

46 


SHOTOFER 


"  Certainly  Sagamore.  I  said  to  Mr.  Quarrier,  '  1 
want  Sagamore,'  and  when  he  tried  to  give  him  to  me, 
I  made  him  take  my  cheque.  Now  you  may  draw  an 
other  for  me  at  your  leisure,  Mr.  Siward.  Tell  me,  are 
you  pleased?  " — for  she  was  looking  for  the  troubled 
hesitation  in  his  face  and  she  saw  it  dawning. 

"  Mr.  Quarrier  doesn't  like  me,  you  know " 

"  But  /  do,"  she  said  coolly.  "  I  told  him  how  much 
pleasure  it  would  give  me.  That  is  sufficient — is  it  not? 
— for  everybody  concerned." 

"  He  knew  that  you  meant  to " 

"  No,  that  concerns  only  you  and  me.  Are  you  try 
ing  to  spoil  my  pleasure  in  what  I  have  done  ?  " 

"  I  can't  take  the  dog,  Miss  Landis " 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  vexed ;  "  I  had  no  idea  you  were 
vindictive " 

There  was  a  silence ;  he  bent  forward  a  trifle,  gravely 
scrutinising  a  "  hand-painted  "  name  card,  though  it 
might  not  have  astonished  him  to  learn  that  somebody's 
foot  had  held  the  brush.  Somewhere  in  the  vicinity 
Grace  Ferrall  had  discovered  a  woman  who  supported 
dozens  of  relatives  by  painting  that  sort  of  thing  for 
the  summer  residents  at  Vermillion  Point  down  the  coast. 
So  being  charitable  she  left  an  order,  and  being  thrifty, 
insisted  on  using  the  cards,  spite  of  her  husband's  gibes. 

People  were  now  inspecting  them  with  more  or  less 
curiosity ;  Siward  found  his  "  hand-painting  "  so  unat 
tractive  that  he  had  just  tipped  it  over  to  avoid  seeing 
it,  when  a  burst  of  laughter  from  Lord  Alderdene  made 
everybody  turn.  Mrs.  Vendenning  was  laughing ;  so  was 
Rena  Bonnesdel  looking  over  Quarrier's  shoulder  at  a 
card  he  was  holding — not  one  of  the  "  hand  "-decorated, 
but  a  sheet  of  note-paper  containing  a  drawing  of  a 
man  rushing  after  a  gun-shy  dog. 

47 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

The  extraordinary  cackling  laughter  of  his  lord 
ship  obliterated  other  sounds  for  a  while ;  Rena  Bonnes- 
del  possessed  herself  of  the  drawing  and  held  it  up  amid 
a  shout  of  laughter.  And,  to  his  excessive  annoyance, 
Siward  saw  that,  unconsciously,  he  had  caricatured  Quar- 
rier — Ferrall's  malicious  request  for  a  Vandyke  beard 
making  the  caricature  dreadfully  apparent. 

Quarrier  had  at  first  flushed  up;  then  he  forced  a 
smile;  but  his  symmetrical  features  were  never  cordial 
when  he  smiled. 

"  Who  on  earth  did  that?  "  whispered  Sylvia  Landis 
apprehensively.  "  Mr.  Quarrier  dislikes  that  sort  of 
thing — but  of  course  he'll  take  it  well." 

"  Did  he  ever  chase  his  own  dog?  "  asked  Siward, 
biting  his  lip. 

"  Yes — so  Blinky  says — in  the  Carolinas  last  season. 
It's  Blinky! — that's  his  notion  of  humour.  Did  you 
ever  hear  such  a  laugh?  No  wonder  Mr.  Quarrier  is 
annoyed." 

The  gay  uproar  had  partly  subsided,  renewed  here 
and  there  as  the  sketch  was  passed  along,  and  finally, 
making  the  circle,  returned  like  a  bad  penny  to  Quarrier. 
He  smiled  again,  symmetrically,  as  he  received  it,  nod 
ding  his  compliments  to  Alderdene. 

"  Oh,  no,"  cackled  his  lordship ;  "  I  didn't  draw  it, 
old  chap ! " 

"  Nor  I !  I  only  wish  I  could,"  added  Captain 
Voucher. 

"  Nor  I — nor  I — who  did  it  ?  "  ran  the  chorus  along 
the  table. 

"  /  didn't  do  it !  "  said  Sylvia  gravely,  looking  across 
at  Quarrier.  And  suddenly  Quarrier's  large,  handsome 
eyes  met  Siward's  for  the  briefest  fraction  of  a  second, 
then  were  averted.  But  into  his  face  there  crept  an 

48 


SHOTOFER 


expressionless  pallor  that  did  not  escape  Siward — no, 
nor  Sylvia  Landis. 

Presently  under  cover  of  a  rapid  fire  of  chatter  she 
said:  "  Did  you  draw  that?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  had  no  idea  it  was  meant  for  him.  You 
may  imagine  how  likely  I'd  be  to  take  any  liberty  with 
a  man  who  already  dislikes  me." 

"  But  it  resembles  him — in  a  very  dreadful  way." 

"  I  know  it.  You  must  take  my  word  for  what  I 
have  told  you." 

She  looked  up  at  him :  "  I  do."  Then :  "  It's  a  pity ; 
Mr.  Quarrier  does  not  consider  such  things  humourous. 
He — he  is  very  sensitive.  .  .  .  Oh,  I  wish  that  fool  Eng 
lishman  had  been  in  Ballyhoo !  " 

"But  he  didn't  doit!" 

"  No,  but  he  put  you  up  to  it — or  Grace  Ferrall  did. 
I  wish  Grace  would  let  Mr.  Quarrier  alone;  she  has 
always  been  perfectly  possessed  to  plague  him;  she 
seems  unable  to  take  him  seriously  and  he  simply  hates 
it.  I  don't  think  he'd  tolerate  her  if  she  were  not  his 
cousin." 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,"  was  all  Siward  said ;  and  for 
a  while  he  gloomily  busied  himself  with  whatever  was 
brought  to  him. 

"  Don't  look  that  way,"  came  a  low  voice  beside  him. 

"Do  I  show  everything  as  plainly  as  that?"  he 
asked,  curiously. 

"  I  seem  to  read  you — sometimes." 

"  It's  very  nice  of  you,"  he  said. 

"Nice?" 

"  To  look  at  me — now  and  then." 

"  Oh,"  she  cried  resentfully,  "  don't  be  grateful." 

"  I — really  am  not  you  know,"  he  said  laughing. 

"  That,"  she  rejoined  slowly,  "  is  the  truth.  You 
49 


THE   FIGPITING   CHANCE 


say  conventional  things  in  a  manner — in  an  agreeably 
personal  manner  that  interests  women.  But  you  are 
not  grateful  to  anybody  for  anything ;  you  are  indiffer 
ent,  and  you  can't  help  being  nice  to  people,  so — some 
day — some  girl  will  think  you  are  grateful,  and  will 
have  a  miserable  time  of  it." 

"  Miserable  time  ?  " 

"  Waiting  for  you  to  say  what  never  will  enter  your 
head  to  say." 

"  You  mean  I— I " 

"  Flirt?  No,  I  mean  that  you  don't  flirt;  that  you 
are  always  dreamily  occupied  with  your  own  affairs, 
from  which  listlessly  congenial  occupation,  when  drawn, 
you  are  so  unexpectedly  nice  that  a  girl  immediately 
desires  to  see  how  nice  you  can  be." 

"  What  a  charming  indictment  you  draw !  "  he  said, 
amused. 

"  It's  a  grave  one  I  assure  you.  I've  been  talking 
about  you  to  Grace  Ferrall ;  I  asked  to  be  placed  beside 
you  at  dinner;  I  told  her  I  hadn't  had  half  enough  of 
you  on  the  cliff.  Now  what  do  you  think  of  yourself  for 
being  too  nice  to  a  susceptible  girl?  /  think  it's  im 
moral." 

They  both  were  laughing  now ;  several  people  glanced 
at  them,  smiling  in  sympathy.  Alderdene  took  that  op 
portunity  to  revert  to  the  sketch,  furnishing  a  specimen 
of  his  own  inimitable  laughter  as  a  running  accompani 
ment  to  the  story  of  Quarrier  and  his  dog  in  North  Caro 
lina,  until  he  had  everybody,  as  usual,  laughing,  not 
at  the  story  but  at  him.  All  of  which  demonstration 
was  bitterly  offensive  to  Quarrier.  He  turned  his 
eyes  once  on  Miss  Landis  and  on  Siward,  then  dropped 
them. 

The  hostess  arose ;  a  rustle  and  flurry  of  silk  and  lace 
50 


SHOTOVEE 


and  the  scraping  of  chairs,  a  lingering  word  or  laugh, 
and  the  colour  vanished  from  the  room  leaving  a  circle 
of  men  in  black  standing  around  the  table. 

Here  and  there  a  man,  lighting  a  cigarette,  bolted 
his  coffee  and  cognac  and  strolled  out  to  the  gun-room. 
Ferrall,  gesticulating  vigorously,  resumed  his  pre- 
prandial  dog  story  to  Captain  Voucher;  Belwether  but 
tonholed  Alderdene  and  bored  him  with  an  interminably 
facetious  tale  until  that  nobleman,  threatened  with  maxil 
lary  dislocation,  fairly  wrenched  himself  loose  and  came 
over  to  Siward,  squinting  furiously. 

"  Old  ass !  "  he  muttered ;  "  his  chop  whiskers  look 
like  the  chops  of  a  Southdown  ram — and  he's  got  the 
wits  of  one.  Look  here,  Stephen,  I  hear  you  fell  into 
no  end  of  a  scrape  in  town " 

"  Tu  quoque,  Blinky?  Oh,  read  the  newspapers  and 
let  it  go  at  that !  " 

"  Just  as  you  like  old  chap !  "  returned  his  lordship 
unabashed.  "  All  I  meant  was — anything  Voucher  and 
I  can  do — of  course " 

"  You're  very  good.     I'm  not  dead  you  know." 

"  '  Not  dead,  you  know  ',"  repeated  Major  Belwether 
coming  up  behind  them  with  his  sprightly  step ;  "  that 
reminds  me  of  a  good  one — "  He  sat  down  and  lighted 
a  cigar,  then,  vainly  attempting  to  control  his  counte 
nance  as  though  roguishly  anticipating  the  treat  await 
ing  them,  he  began  another  endless  story. 

Tradition  had  hallowed  the  popular  notion  that 
Major  Belwether  was  a  wit.  The  sycophant  of  the  outer 
world  seldom  even  awaited  his  first  word  before  burst 
ing  into  premature  mirth.  Besides  he  was  very  wealthy. 

Siward  watched  him  with  mixed  emotions ;  the  lam 
bent-eyed,  shcepy  expression  had  given  place  to  the 
buck  rabbit;  his  smooth  baby-pink  skin  and  downy 

51 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

white  side  whiskers  quivered  in  premature  sympathy 
with  his  listener's  overwhelming  hilarity. 

The  Page  boys,  very  callow,  very  much  delighted, 
and  a  little  in  awe  of  such  a  celebrated  personage, 
laughed  heartily.  And  altogether  there  was  sufficient 
attention  and  sufficient  laughter  to  make  a  very  respect 
able  noise.  This,  being  the  major's  cue  for  an  exit, 
he  rose,  one  sleek  hand  raised  in  sprightly  protest  as 
though  to  shield  the  invisible  ladies,  to  whose  bournes 
he  was  bound,  from  an  uproar  too  masculine  and  mighty 
for  the  ears  of  such  a  sex. 

"  Ass !  "  muttered  Alderdene,  getting  up  and  pat 
tering  about  the  room  in  his  big,  shiny  pumps.  "  Give 
me  a  peg — somebody !  " 

Mortimer  swallowed  his  brandy,  lingered,  lifted  the 
decanter,  mechanically  considering  its  remaining  con 
tents  and  his  own  capacity;  then: 

"Bridge,  Captain?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Captain  Voucher  briskly. 

"  I'll  go  and  shoo  the  major  into  the  gun-room," 
observed  Ferrall — "  unless — "  looking  questioningly  at 
Siward. 

"  I've  a  date  with  your  wife,"  observed  that  young 
man,  strolling  toward  the  hall. 

The  Page  boys,  Rena  Bonnesdel,  and  Eileen  Shan 
non  were  seated  at  a  card  table  together,  very  much 
engaged  with  one  another,  the  sealed  pack  lying  neg 
lected  on  the  green  cloth,  a  vast  pink  box  of  bon-bons 
beside  it,  not  neglected. 

O'Hara  and  Quarrier  with  Marion  Page  and  Mrs. 
Mortimer  were  immersed  in  the  game,  already  stony 
faced  and  oblivious  to  outer  sounds. 

About  the  rooms  were  distributed  girls  en  tete-a- 
tete,  girls  eajting  bon-bons  and  watching  the  cards — 


SHOTOFER 


among  them  Sylvia  Landis,  hands  loosely  clasped  be 
hind  her,  standing  at  Quarrier's  elbow  to  observe  and 
profit  by  an  expert  performance. 

As  Siward  strolled  in  she  raised  her  dainty  head 
for  an  instant,  smiled  in  silence,  and  resumed  a  study  of 
her  fiancees  game. 

A  moment  later,  when  Quarrier  had  emerged  bril 
liantly  from  the  melee,  she  looked  up  again,  trium 
phantly,  supposing  Siward  was  lingering  somewhere 
waiting  to  join  her.  And  she  was  just  a  trifle  surprised 
and  disappointed  to  find  him  nowhere  in  sight.  She  had 
wished  him  to  observe  the  brilliancy  of  Mr.  Quarrier's 
game. 

But  Siward,  outside  on  the  veranda,  was  saying  at 
that  moment  to  his  hostess :  "  I  shall  be  very  glad  to 
read  my  mother's  letter  at  any  time  you  choose." 

"  It  must  be  later,  Stephen.  I'm  to  cut  in  when 
Kemp  sends  for  me.  He  has  a  lot  of  letters  to  attend  to. 
.  .  .  Tell  me,  what  do  you  think  of  Sylvia  Landis  ?  " 

"  I  like  her,  of  course,"  he  replied  pleasantly. 

Grace  Ferrall  stood  thinking  a  moment:  "  That 
sketch  you  made  proved  a  great  success,  didn't  it?  " 
And  she  laughed  under  her  breath. 

"  Did  it  ?  I  thought  Mr.  Quarrier  seemed  an 
noyed " 

"  Really  ?  What  a  muff  that  cousin  of  mine  is. 
He's  such  a  muff,  you  know,  that  the  very  sight  of  his 
pointed  beard  and  pompadour  hair  and  his  complacency 
sets  me  in  fidgets  to  stir  him  up." 

"  I  don't  think  you'd  best  use  me  for  the  stick 
next  time,"  said  Siward.  "  He's  not  my  cousin  you 
know." 

Mrs.  Ferrall  shrugged  her  boyish  shoulders :  "  By 
the  way  " — she  said  curiously — "  who  was  that  girl  ?  " 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 


"  What  girl,"  he  asked  coolly,  looking  at  his  hostess, 
now  the  very  incarnation  of  delicate  mockery  with  her 
pretty  laughing  mouth,  her  boyish  sunburn  and  freckles. 

"  You  won't  tell  me  I  suppose?  " 

"  I'm  sorry " 

"  Was  she  pretty,  Stephen?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said  sulkily ;  "  I  wish  you  wouldn't " 

"  Nonsense !  Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  let  you  off 
without  some  sort  of  confession?  If  I  had  time  now — 
but  I  haven't.  Kemp  has  business  letters :  he'll  be 
furious ;  so  I've  got  to  take  his  cards  or  we  won't  have 
any  pennies  to  buy  gasoline  for  our  adored  and  shriek 
ing  Mercedes." 

She  retreated  backward  with  a  gay  nod  of  malice, 
turned  to  enter  the  house,  and  met  Sylvia  Landis  face 
to  face  in  the  hallway. 

"  You  minx ! "  she  whispered ;  "  aren't  you 
ashamed  ?  " 

"Very  much,  dear.  What  for?"  And  catching 
sight  of  Siward  outside  in  the  starlight,  divined  per 
haps  something  of  her  hostess'  meaning,  for  she  laughed 
uneasily,  like  a  child  who  winces  under  a  stern  eye. 

"  You  don't  suppose  for  a  moment,"  she  began, 
"  that  I  have " 

"  Yes  I  do.     You  always  do." 

"  Not  with  that  sort  of  man,"  she  returned  naively ; 
"  he  won't." 

Mrs.  Ferrall  regarded  her  suspiciously :  "  You  al 
ways  pick  out  exactly  the  wrong  man  to  play  with " 

They  had  moved  back  side  by  side  into  the  hall, 
the  hostess'  arm  linked  in  the  arm  of  the  younger  girl. 

"  The  wrong  man  ?  "  repeated  Sylvia,  instinctively 
freeing  her  arm,  her  straight  brows  beginning  to  bend 
inward. 

54 


SHOTOFER 


"  I  didn't  mean  that — exactly.  You  know  how 
much  I  care  for  his  mother — and  for  him."  The  ob 
stinate  downward  trend  of  the  brows,  the  narrowing 
blue  gaze  signalled  mutiny  to  the  woman  who  knew  her 
so  well. 

"  What  is  so  wrong  with  Mr.  Siward  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Nothing.     There  was  an  affair " 

"  This  spring  in  town.     I  know  it.     Is  that  all?  " 

"  Yes — for  the  present,"  replied  Grace  Ferrall  un 
comfortably  ;  then :  "  For  goodness'  sake,  Sylvia,  don't 
cross  examine  me  that  way!  I  care  a  great  deal  for 
that  boy " 

"  So  do  I.     I've  made  him  take  my  dog." 

There  was  an  abrupt  pause,  and  presently  Mrs. 
Ferrall  began  to  laugh. 

"  I  mean  it — really,"  said  Sylvia  quietly ;  '*  I  like 
him  immensely." 

"  Dearest,  you  mean  it  generously — with  your  usual 
exaggeration.  You  have  heard  that  he  has  been  foolish, 
and  because  he's  so  young,  so  likable,  every  instinct, 
every  impulse  in  you  is  aroused  to — to  be  nice  to 
him " 

"  And  if  that  were  true " 

"  There  is  no  harm,  dear — "  Mrs.  Ferrall  hesitated, 
her  grey  eyes  softening  to  a  graver  revery.  Then  look 
ing  up :  "  It's  rather  pathetic,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Kemp  thinks  he's  foredoomed — like  all  the  Siwards. 
It's  an  hereditary  failing  with  him, — no,  it's  hereditary 
damnation.  Siward  after  Siward,  generation  after 
generation  you  know — "  She  bit  her  lip,  thinking  a 
moment.  "  His  grandfather  was  a  friend  of  my  grand 
parents,  brilliant,  handsome,  generous,  and — doomed ! 
His  own  father  was  found  dying  in  a  dreadful  resort 
in  London  where  he  had  wandered  when  stupefied- 
5  55 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

Siward!  Think  of  it!  So  you  see  what  that  outbreak 
of  Stephen's  means  to  those  whose  families  have  been 
New  Yorkers  since  New  York  was.  It  is  ominous,  it  is 
more  than  ominous — it  means  that  the  master-vice  has 
seized  on  one  more  Siward.  But  I  shall  never,  never 
admit  it  to  his  mother." 

The  younger  girl  sat  wide-eyed,  silent;  the  elder's 
gaze  was  upon  her,  but  her  thoughts,  remote,  centred 
on  the  hapless  mother  of  such  a  son. 

"  Such  indulgence  was  once  fashionable ;  moderation 
is  the  present  fashion.  Perhaps  he  will  fall  into  line," 
said  Mrs.  Ferrall  thoughtfully.  "  The  main  thing  is  to 
keep  him  among  people,  not  to  drop  him.  The  gregari 
ous  may  be  shamed,  but  if  anything,  any  incident,  hap 
pens  to  drive  him  outside  by  himself,  if  he  should  be 
come  solitary,  there's  not  a  chance  in  the  world  for  him. 
.  .  .  It's  a  pity.  I  know  he  meant  to  make  himself  the 
exception  to  the  rule — and  look!  Already  one  carouse 
of  his  has  landed  him  in  the  daily  papers !  " 

Sylvia  flushed  and  looked  up :  "  Grace,  may  I  ask 
you  a  plain  question?  " 

"  Yes,  child,"  she  answered  absently. 

"  Has  it  occurred  to  you  that  what  you  have  said 
about  this  boy  touches  me  very  closely  ?  " 

Mrs.  Ferrall's  wits  returned  nimbly  from  woolgath 
ering,  and  she  shot  a  startled,  inquiring  glance  at  the 
girl  beside  her. 

"  You — you  mean  the  matter  of  heredity,  Sylvia  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  think  my  uncle  Major  Belwether  chose 
you  as  his  august  mouthpiece  for  that  little  sermon  on 
the  dangers  of  heredity — the  danger  of  being  ignorant 
concerning  what  women  of  my  race  had  done — before 
I  came  into  the  world  they  found  so  amusing." 

"  I  told  you  several  things,"  returned  Mrs.  Ferrall 
56 


SHOTOFER 


composedly.  "  Your  uncle  thought  it  best  for  you  to 
know." 

"  Yes.  The  marriage  vows  sat  lightly  upon  some 
of  my  ancestors,  I  gather.  In  fact,"  she  added  coolly, 
"  where  the  women  of  my  race  loved  they  usually  found 
the  way — rather  unconventionally.  There  was,  if  I  un 
derstood  you,  enough  of  divorce,  of  general  indiscretion 
and  irregularity  to  seriously  complicate  any  family  tree 
and  coat  of  arms  I  might  care  to  claim " 

"Sylvia!" 

The  girl  lifted  her  pretty  bare  shoulders.  "  I'm 
sorry,  but  could  /  help  it?  Very  well;  all  I  can  do  is 
to  prove  a  decent  exception.  Very  well;  I'm  doing  it, 
am  I  not? — practically  scared  into  the  first  solidly 
suitable  marriage  offered  —  seizing  the  unfortunate 
Howard  with  both  hands  for  fear  he'd  get  away  and 
leave  me  alone  with  only  a  queer  family  record  for  com 
pany !  Very  well!  Now  then,  I  want  to  ask  you  why 
everybody,  in  my  case,  didn't  go  about  with  sanctimoni 
ous  faces  and  dolorous  mien  repeating :  '  Her  grand 
mother  eloped  !  Her  mother  ran  away.  Poor  child,  she's 
doomed !  doomed ! ' 

"  Sylvia,  I " 

"  Yes — why  didn't  they?  That's  the  way  they  talk 
about  that  boy  out  there !  "  She  swept  a  rounded  arm 
toward  the  veranda. 

"  Yes,  but  lie  has  already  broken  loose,  while 
you " 

"  So  did  I — nearly !  Had  it  not  been  for  you,  you 
know  well  enough  I  might  have  run  away  with  that 
dreadful  Englishman  at  Newport!  For  I  adored  him 
— I  did !  I  did !  and  you  know  it.  And  look  at  my  end 
less  escapes  from  compromising  myself!  Can  you  count 
them? — all  those  indiscretions  when  mere  living  seemed 

57 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

to  intoxicate  me  that  first  winter — and  only  my  uncle 
and  you  to  break  me  in !  " 

"  In  other  words,"  said  Mrs.  Ferrall  slowly,  "  you 
don't  think  Mr.  Siward  is  getting  what  is  known  as  a 
square  deal?  " 

"  No,  I  don't.  Major  Belwether  has  already  hinted 
— no,  not  even  that — but  has  somehow  managed  to 
dampen  my  pleasure  in  Mr.  Siward." 

Mrs.  Ferrall  considered  the  girl  beside  her — now 
very  lovely  and  flushed  in  her  suppressed  excitement. 

"  After  all,"  she  said,  "  you  are  going  to  marry 
somebody  else.  So  why  become  quite  so  animated  about 
a  man  you  may  never  again  see?  " 

"  I  shall  see  him  if  I  desire  to!  " 

"Oh!" 

"  I  am  not  taking  the  black  veil,  am  I  ?  "  asked  the 
girl  hotly. 

"  Only  the  wedding  veil,  dear.  But  after  all  your 
husband  ought  to  have  something  to  suggest  concerning 
a  common  visiting  list " 

"  He  may  suggest — certainly.  In  the  meantime  I 
shall  be  loyal  to  my  own  friends — and  afterward,  too," 
she  murmured  to  herself,  as  her  hostess  rose,  calmly 
dropping  care  like  a  mantle  from  her  shoulders. 

"  Go  and  be  good  to  this  poor  young  man  then ;  I 
adore  rows — and  you'll  have  a  few  on  your  hands  I'll 
warrant.  Let  me  remind  you  that  your  uncle  can  make 
it  unpleasant  for  you  yet,  and  that  your  amiable  fiance 
has  a  will  of  his  own  under  his  pompadour  and  silky 
beard." 

"  What  a  pity  to  have  it  clash  with  mine,"  said  the 
girl  serenely. 

Mrs.  Ferrall  looked  at  her :  "  Mercy  on  us !  Howard's 
pompadour  would  stick  up  straight  with  horror  if  he 

58 


SHOTOVER 


could  hear  you!  Don't  be  silly;  don't  for  an  impulse, 
for  a  caprice,  break  off  anything  desirable  on  account 
of  a  man  for  whom  you  really  care  nothing — whose 
amiable  exterior  and  prospective  misfortune  merely  en 
list  a  very  natural  and  generous  sympathy  in  you." 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  I  shall  endure  interference 
from  anybody  ? — from  my  uncle,  from  Howard  ?  " 

"  Dear,  you  are  making  a  mountain  out  of  a  mole 
hill.  Don't  be  emotional;  don't  let  loose  impulses  that 
you  and  I  know  about,  knew  about  in  our  school  years, 
know  all  about  now,  and  which  you  and  I  have  decided 
must  be  eliminated " 

"  You  mean  subdued ;  they'll  always  be  there." 

"  Very  well ;  who  cares,  as  long  as  you  have  them 
in  leash?" 

Looking  at  one  another,  the  excited  colour  cooling 
in  the  younger  girl's  cheeks,  they  laughed,  one  with 
relief,  the  other  a  little  ashamed. 

"  Kemp  will  be  furious ;  I  simply  must  cut  in !  "  said 
Mrs.  Ferrall,  hastily  turning  toward  the  gun-room. 
Miss  Landis  looked  after  her,  subdued,  vaguely  repent 
ant,  the  consciousness  dawning  upon  her  that  she  had 
probably  made  considerable  conversation  about  nothing. 

"  It's  been  so  all  day,"  she  thought  impatiently ; 
"  I've  exaggerated ;  I've  worked  up  a  scene  about  a  man 
whose  habits  are  not  the  slightest  concern  of  mine.  Be 
sides  that  I've  neglected  Howard  shamefully !  "  She  was 
walking  slowly,  her  thoughts  outstripping  her  errant 
feet,  but  it  seemed  that  neither  her  thoughts  nor  her 
steps  were  leading  her  toward  the  neglected  gentleman 
within;  for  presently  she  found  herself  at  the  breezy 
veranda  door,  looking  rather  fixedly  at  the  stars. 

The  stars,  shining  impartially  upon  the  just  and 
the  unjust,  illuminated  the  person  of  Siward,  who  sat 

59 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

alone,  rather  limply,  one  knee  crossed  above  the  other. 
He  looked  up  by  chance,  and,  seeing  her  star-gazing 
in  the  doorway,  straightened  out  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

Aware  of  him  apparently  for  the  first  time,  she 
stepped  across  the  threshold  meeting  his  advance  half 
way. 

"  Would  you  care  to  go  down  to  the  rocks  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  The  surf  is  terrific." 

"  No— I  don't  think  I  care " 

They  stood  listening  a  moment  to  the  stupendous 
roar. 

"  A  storm  somewhere  at  sea,"  he  concluded. 

"  Is  it  very  fine — the  surf?  " 

"  Very  fine — and  very  relentless — "  he  laughed ; 
"  it  is  an  unfriendly  creature,  the  sea,  you  know." 

She  had  begun  to  move  toward  the  cliffs,  he  fell 
into  step  beside  her;  they  spoke  little,  a  word  now 
and  then. 

The  perfume  of  the  mounting  sea  saturated  the  night 
with  wild  fragrance;  dew  lay  heavy  on  the  lawns;  she 
lifted  her  skirts  enough  to  clear  the  grass,  heedless  that 
her  silk-shod  feet  were  now  soaking.  Then  at  the  cliffs' 
edge,  as  she  looked  down  into  the  white  fury  of  the  surf, 
the  stunning  crash  of  the  ocean  saluted  her. 

For  a  long  while  they  watched  in  silence;  once  she 
leaned  a  trifle  too  far  over  the  star-lit  gulf  and,  re 
coiling,  involuntarily  steadied  herself  on  his  arm. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  no  swimmer  could  endure 
that  battering." 

"  Not  long." 

"  Would  there  be  no  chance  ?  " 

"  Not  one." 

She  bent  farther  outward,  fascinated,  stirred,  by  the 
splendid  frenzy  of  the  breakers. 

60 


SHOTOVER 


"  I — think — ,"  he  began  quietly ;  then  a  firm  hand 
fell  over  her  left  hand ;  and,  half  encircled  by  his  arm 
she  found  herself  drawn  back.  Neither  spoke;  two 
things  she  was  coolly  aware  of,  that,  urged,  drawn  by 
something  subtly  irresistible  she  had  leaned  too  far  out 
from  the  cliff,  and  would  have  leaned  farther  had  he 
not  taken  matters  into  his  own  keeping  without  apology. 
Another  thing;  the  pressure  of  his  hand  over  hers  re 
mained  a  sensation  still — a  strong,  steady,  masterful 
imprint  lacking  hesitation  or  vacillation.  She  was  as 
conscious  of  it  as  though  her  hand  still  tightened  under 
his — and  she  was  conscious,  too,  that  nothing  of  his 
touch  had  offended;  that  there  had  arisen  in  her  no 
tremor  of  instinctive  recoil.  For  never  before  had  she 
touched  or  suffered  a  touch  from  a  man,  even  a  gloved 
greeting,  that  had  not  in  some  measure  subtly  repelled 
her,  nor,  for  that  matter,  a  caress  from  a  woman  without 
a  reaction  of  faint  discomfort. 

"  Was  I  in  any  actual  danger?  "  she  asked  curi 
ously. 

"  I  think  not.  But  it  was  too  much  responsibility 
for  me." 

"  I  see.  Any  time  I  wish  to  break  my  neck  I  am  to 
please  do  it  alone  in  future." 

"  Exactly — if  you  don't  mind,"  he  said  smiling. 

They  turned,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  walking  back 
through  the  drenched  herbage. 

"  That,"  she  said  impulsively,  "  is  not  what  7  said 
a  few  moments  ago  to  a  woman." 

"  What  did  you  say  a  few  moments  ago  to  a 
woman?  " 

"  I  said,  Mr.  Siward,  that  I  would  not  leave  a — a  cer 
tain  man  to  go  to  the  devil  alone !  " 

"  Do  you  know  any  man  who  is  going  to  the  devil?  " 
61 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  Do  you?  "  she  asked,  letting  herself  go  swinging 
out  upon  a  tide  of  intimacy  she  had  never  dreamed 
of  risking — nor  had  she  the  slightest  idea  whither  the 
current  would  carry  her. 

They  had  stopped  on  the  lawn,  ankle  deep  in  wet 
grass,  the  stars  overhead  sparkling  magnificently,  and 
in  their  ears  the  outcrash  of  the  sea. 

"  You  mean  me,"  he  concluded. 

"Do  I?" 

He  looked  up  into  the  lovely  face;  her  eyes  were 
very  sweet,  very  clear — clear  with  excitement — but  very 
friendly. 

"  Let  us  sit  here  on  the  steps  a  little  while,  will 
you?  "  she  asked. 

So  he  found  a  place  beside  her,  one  step  lower,  and 
she  leaned  forward,  elbows  on  knees,  rounded  white  chin 
in  her  palms,  the  starlight  giving  her  bare  arms  and 
shoulders  a  marble  lustre  and  tinting  her  eyes  a  deeper 
amethyst. 

And  now,  innocently  untethered,  mission  and  all, 
she  laid  her  heart  quite  bare — one  chapter  of  it.  And, 
like  other  women-errant  who  believe  in  the  influence  of 
their  sex  individually  and  collectively,  she  began  wrong 
by  telling  him  of  her  engagement — perhaps  to  emphasise 
her  pure  disinterestedness  in  a  crusade  for  principle  only. 
Which  naturally  dampened  in  him  any  nascent  enthu 
siasm  for  being  ministered  to,  and  so  preoccupied  him 
that  he  turned  deaf  ears  to  some  very  sweet  platitudes 
which  might  otherwise  have  impressed  him  as  discoveries 
in  philosophy. 

Officially  her  creed  was  the  fashionable  one  in  town ; 
privately  she  had  her  own  religion,  lacking  some  details 
truly  enough,  but  shaped  upon  youthful  notions  of 
right  and  wrong.  As  she  had  not  read  very  widely,  she 

62 


SHOTOVER 


supposed  that  she  had  discovered  this  religion  for  her 
self ;  she  was  not  aware  that  everybody  else  had  passed 
that  way — it  being  the  first  immature  moult  in  young 
people  after  rejecting  dogma. 

And  the  ripened  fruit  of  all  this  philosophy  she 
helpfully  dispensed  for  Siward's  benefit  as  bearing 
directly  on  his  case. 

Had  he  not  been  immersed  in  the  unexpected  propo 
sition  of  her  impending  matrimony,  he  might  have  been 
impressed,  for  the  spell  of  her  beauty  counted  some 
thing,  and  besides,  he  had  recently  formulated  for  him 
self  a  code  of  ethics,  tinctured  with  Omar,  and  slightly 
resembling  her  own  discoveries  in  that  dog-eared  science. 

So  it  was,  when  she  was  most  eloquent,  most  ear 
nestly  inspired — nay  in  the  very  middle  of  a  plea  for 
sweetness  and  light  and  simple  living,  that  his  reasonings 
found  voice  in  the  material  comment : 

"  I  never  imagined  you  were  engaged !  " 

"  Is  that  what  you  have  been  thinking  about?  "  she 
asked,  innocently  astonished. 

"  Yes.  Why  not  ?  I  never  for  one  instant  sup 
posed " 

"  But,  Mr.  Siward,  why  should  you  have  concerned 
yourself  with  supposing  anything?  Why  indulge  in 
any  speculation  of  that  sort  about  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  didn't,"  he  said. 

"  Of  course  you  didn't ;  you'd  known  me  for  about 
three  hours — there  on  the  cliff " 

"  But— Quarrier !  " 

Over  his  youthful  face  a  sullen  shadow  had  fallen — 
flickering,  not  yet  settled.  He  would  not  for  anything 
on  earth  have  talked  freely  to  the  woman  destined  to  be 
Quarrier's  wife.  He  had  talked  too  much  anyway. 
Something  in  her,  something  about  her  had  loosened  his 

63 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

tongue.  He  had  made  a  plain  ass  of  himself — that  was 
all, — a  garrulous  ass.  And  truly  it  seemed  that  the  girl 
beside  him,  even  in  the  starlight,  could  follow  and  divine 
what  he  had  scarcely  expressed  to  himself;  or  her  in 
stincts  had  taken  a  shorter  cut  to  forestall  his  own  con 
clusion. 

"  Don't  think  the  things  you  are  thinking !  "  she  said 
in  a  fierce  little  voice,  leaning  toward  him. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked,  taken  aback. 

"  You  know !  Don't !  It  is  unfair — it  is — is  faith 
less — to  me.  I  am  your  friend;  why  not?  Does  it 
make  any  difference  to  you  who  I  marry?  Cannot  two 
people  remain  in  accord  anyway?  Their  friendship 
concerns  one  another  and — nobody  else !  "  She  was  let 
ting  herself  go  now;  she  was  conscious  of  it,  conscious 
that  impulse  and  emotion  were  the  currents  unloosed  and 
hurrying  her  onward.  And  with  it  all  came  exhilara 
tion,  a  faint  intoxication,  a  delicate  delight  in  daring 
to  let  go  all  and  trust  to  impulse  and  emotions. 

"  Why  should  you  feel  hurt  because  for  a  moment 
you  let  me  see — gave  me  a  glimpse  of  yourself — of 
life's  battle  as  you  foresee  it?  What  if  there  is  always 
a  reaction  from  all  confidences  exchanged?  What  if 
that  miserable  French  cynic  did  say  that  never  was  he 
more  alone  than  after  confessing  to  a  friend?  He  died 
crazy  anyhow.  Is  not  a  rare  moment  of  confidence 
worth  the  reaction — the  subsidence  into  the  armored  shell 
of  self?  Tell  me  truly,  Mr.  Siward,  isn't  it?  " 

Breathless,  confused,  exhilarated  by  her  own  rapid 
voice  she  bent  her  face,  brilliant  with  colour,  and  very 
sweet ;  and  he  looked  up  into  it,  expectant,  uncertain. 

"  If  such  a  friendship  as  ours  is  to  become  worth  any 
thing  to  you — to  me,  why  should  it  trouble  you  that  I 
know — and  am  thinking  of  things  that  concern  you  ?  Is 

64 


SHOTOFER 


it  because  the  confidence  is  one-sided?  Is  it  because  you 
have  given  and  I  have  listened  and  given  nothing  in 
return  to  balance  the  account  ?  I  do  give — interest,  deep 
interest,  sympathy  if  you  ask  it ;  I  give  confidence  in  re 
turn — if  you  desire  it !  " 

"  What  can  a  girl  like  you  need  of  sympathy  ?  "  he 
said  smiling. 

"  You  don't  know !  you  don't  know !  If  heredity 
is  a  dark  vista,  and  if  you  must  stare  through  it  all  your 
life,  sword  in  hand,  always  on  your  guard,  do  you  think 
you  are  the  only  one  ?  " 

"Are  you — one?"  he  said  incredulously. 

"  Yes  " — with  an  involuntary  shudder — "  not  that 
way.  It  is  easier  for  me;  I  think  it  is — I  know  it  is. 
But  there  are  things  to  combat — impulses,  a  reckless 
ness,  perhaps  something  almost  ruthless.  What  else  I 
do  not  know,  for  I  have  never  experienced  violent  emo 
tions  of  any  sort — never  even  deep  emotion." 

"  You  are  in  love !  " 

"  Yes,  thoroughly,"  she  added  with  conviction,  "  but 
not  violently.  I — "  she  hesitated,  stopped  short,  lean 
ing  forward,  peering  at  him  through  the  dusk;  and: 
"Mr.  Siward!  are  you  laughing?"  She  rose  and  he 
stood  up  instantly. 

There  was  lightning  in  her  darkening  eyes  now;  in 
his  something  that  glimmered  and  danced.  She  watched 
it,  fascinated,  then  of  a  sudden  the  storm  broke  and 
they  were  both  laughing  convulsively,  face  to  face  there 
under  the  stars. 

"  Mr.  Siward,"  she  breathed,  "  I  don't  know  what  I 
am  laughing  at ;  do  you?  Is  it  at  you?  At  myself?  At 
my  poor  philosophy  in  shreds  and  tatters?  Is  it  some 
infernal  mirth  that  you  seem  to  be  able  to  kindle  in  me 
— for  I  never  knew  a  man  like,  you  before  ?  " 

65 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  were  laughing  at  ?  "  he 
repeated.  "  It  was  something  about  love  -  " 

"  No  I  don't  know  why  I  laughed  !  I  —  I  don't 
wish  to,  Mr.  Siward.  I  do  not  desire  to  laugh  at  any 
thing  you  have  made  me  say  —  anything  you  may 
infer  -  " 

"  I  don't  infer  -  " 

"  You  do  !  You  made  me  say  something  —  about  my 
being  ignorant  of  deep,  of  violent  emotion,  when  I  had 
just  informed  you  that  I  am  thoroughly,  thoroughly  in 
love  -  " 

"  Did  I  make  you  say  all  that,  Miss  Landis  ?  " 

"  You  did.  Then  you  laughed  and  made  me  laugh 
too.  Then  you  -  " 

"  What  did  I  do  then?  "  he  asked,  far  too  humbly. 

"  You  —  you  infer  that  I  am  either  not  in  love  or  in 
capable  of  it,  or  too  ignorant  of  it  to  know  what  I'm 
talking  about.  That,  Mr.  Siward,  is  what  you  have 
done  to  me  to-night." 

"  I—  I'm  sorry  -  " 


you?" 

"  I  ought  to  be  anyway,"  he  said. 

It  was  unfortunate  ;  an  utterly  inexcusable  laughter 
seemed  to  bewitch  them,  hovering  always  close  to  his  lips 
and  hers. 

"  How  can  you  laugh  !  "  she  said.  "  How  dare  you  ! 
I  don't  care  for  you  nearly  as  violently  as  I  did,  Mr. 
Siward.  A  friendship  between  us  would  not  be  at  all 
good  for  me.  Things  pass  too  swiftly  —  too  intimately. 
There  is  too  much  mockery  in  you  —  "  She  ceased  sud 
denly,  watching  the  sombre  alteration  of  his  face;  and, 
"  Have  I  hurt  you?  "  she  asked  penitently. 

"  No." 

"  Have  I,  Mr.  Siward?  I  did  not  mean  it."  The 
66 


SHOTOVER 


attitude,  the  words,  slackening  to  a  trailing  sweetness, 
and  then  the  moment's  silence,  stirred  him. 

"  I'm  rather  ignorant  myself  of  violent  emotion," 
he  said.  "  I  suspect  normal  people  are.  You  know  bet 
ter  than  I  do  whether  love  is  usually  a  sedative." 

"  Am  I  normal — after  what  I  have  confessed?  "  she 
asked.  "  Can't  love  be  well-bred?  " 

"  Perfectly  I  should  say — only  perhaps  you  are  not 
an  expert " 

"  In  what?  " 

"  In  self-analysis,  for  example." 

There  was  a  vague  meaning  in  the  gaze  they  ex 
changed. 

"  As  for  our  friendship,  we'll  do  the  best  we  can  for 
it,  no  matter  what  occurs,"  he  added,  thinking  of  Quar- 
rier.  And,  thinking  of  him,  glanced  up  to  see  him  within 
ear-shot  and  moving  straight  toward  them  from  the 
veranda  above. 

There  was  a  short  silence ;  a  tentative  civil  word  from 
Siward;  then  Miss  Landis  took  command  of  something 
that  had  a  grotesque  resemblance  to  a  situation.  A 
few  minutes  later  they  returned  slowly  to  the  house,  the 
girl  walking  serenely  between  Siward  and  her  preoccu 
pied  affianced. 

"  If  your  shoes  are  as  wet  as  my  skirts  and  slippers 
you  had  better  change,  Mr.  Siward,"  she  said,  pausing 
at  the  foot  of  the  staircase. 

So  he  took  his  conge,  leaving  her  standing  there  with 
Quarrier,  and  mounted  to  his  room. 

In  the  corridor  he  passed  Ferrall,  who  had  finished 
his  business  correspondence  and  was  returning  to  the 
card-room. 

"  Here's  a  letter  that  Grace  wants  you  to  see,"  he 
said.  "  Read  it  before  you  turn  in,  Stephen." 

67 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 


"  All  right ;  but  I'll  be  down  later,"  replied  Siward 
passing  on,  the  letter  in  his  hand.  Entering  his  room 
he  kicked  off  his  wet  pumps  and  found  dry  ones.  Then 
moved  about,  whistling  a  gay  air  from  some  recent  vaude 
ville,  busy  with  rough  towels  and  silken  foot-gear,  until, 
reshod  and  dry,  he  was  ready  to  descend  once  more. 

The  encounter,  the  suddenly  informal  acquaintance 
with  this  young  girl  had  stirred  him  agreeably,  leaving 
a  slight  exhilaration.  Even  her  engagement  to  Quar- 
rier  added  a  tinge  of  malice  to  his  interest.  Besides  he 
was  young  enough  to  feel  the  flattery  of  her  concern  for 
him — of  her  rebuke,  of  her  imprudence,  her  generous 
emotional  and  childish  philosophy. 

Perhaps,  as  like  recognises  like,  he  recognised  in  her 
the  instincts  of  the  born  drifter,  momentarily  at  anchor 
— the  temporary  inertia  of  the  opportunist,  the  latent 
capacity  of  an  unformed  character  for  all  things  and 
anything.  Add  to  these  her  few  years,  her  beauty,  and 
the  wholesome  ignorance  so  confidently  acknowledged, 
what  man  could  remain  unconcerned,  uninterested  in  the 
development  of  such  possibilities?  Not  Siward,  amused 
by  her  sagacious  and  impulsive  prudence,  worldliness, 
and  innocence  in  accepting  Quarrier ;  and  touched  by  her 
profitless,  frank,  and  unworldly  friendliness  for  himself. 

Not  that  he  objected  to  her  marrying  Quarrier;  he 
rather  admired  her  for  being  able  to  do  it,  considering 
the  general  scramble  for  Quarrier.  But  let  that  take 
care  of  itself;  meanwhile,  their  sudden  and  capricious 
intimacy  had  aroused  him  from  the  morbid  reaction  con 
sequent  upon  the  cheap  notoriety  which  he  had  brought 
upon  himself.  Let  him  sponge  his  slate  clean  and  begin 
again  a  better  record,  flattered  by  the  solicitude  she  had 
so  prettily  displayed. 

Whistling  under  his  breath  the  same  gay,  empty 
68 


"She  was  standing  beside  the  fire  with  Quarrier, 
one  foot  on  the  fender." 


SHOTOFER 


melody,  he  opened  the  top  drawer  of  his  dresser,  dropped 
in  his  mother's  letter,  and  locking  the  drawer,  pocketed 
the  key.  He  would  have  time  enough  to  read  the  letter 
when  he  went  to  bed;  he  did  not  just  now  feel  exactly 
like  skimming  through  the  fond,  foolish  sermon  which  he 
knew  had  been  preached  at  him  through  his  mother's 
favourite  missionary,  Grace  Ferrall.  What  was  the  use 
of  dragging  in  the  sad  old  questions  again — of  repeat 
ing  his  assurances  of  good  behaviour,  of  reiterating  his 
promises  of  moderation  and  watchfulness,  of  explaining 
his  own  self-confidence?  Better  that  the  letter  await  his 
bed  time — his  prayers  would  be  the  sincerer  the  fresher 
the  impression;  for  he  was  old-fashioned  enough  to  say 
the  prayers  that  an  immature  philosophy  proved  super 
fluous.  For,  he  thought,  if  prayer  is  any  use,  it  takes 
only  a  few  minutes  to  be  on  the  safe  side. 

So  he  went  down-stairs  leisurely,  prepared  to  ac 
quiesce  in  any  suggestion  from  anybody,  but  rather  hop 
ing  to  saunter  across  Sylvia  Landis'  path  before  being 
committed. 

She  was  standing  beside  the  fire  with  Quarrier,  one 
foot  on  the  fender,  apparently  too  preoccupied  to  no 
tice  him;  so  he  strolled  into  the  gun-room,  which  was 
blue  with  tobacco  smoke  and  aromatic  with  the  volatile 
odours  from  decanters. 

There  were  a  few  women  there,  and  the  majority  of 
the  men.  Lord  Alderdene,  Major  Bel  wether,  and  Mor 
timer  were  at  a  table  by  themselves;  stacks  of  ivory 
chips  and  five  cards  spread  in  the  centre  of  the  green  ex 
plained  the  nature  of  their  game ;  and  Mortimer,  raising 
his  heavy  inflamed  eyes  and  seeing  Siward  unoccupied, 
said  wheezily :  "  Cut  out  that  '  widow,'  and  give  Siward 
his  stack !  Anything  above  two  pairs  for  a  j  ack  triples 
the  ante.  Come  on,  Siward,  there's  a  decent  chap !  " 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

So  he  seated  himself  for  a  sacrifice  to  the  blind  god 
dess  balanced  upon  her  winged  wheel ;  and  the  cards  ran 
high — so  high  that  stacks  dwindled  or  toppled  within 
the  half-hour,  and  Mortimer  grew  redder  and  redder, 
and  Major  Belwether  blander  and  blander,  and  Alder- 
dene's  face  wore  a  continual  nervous  snicker,  showing 
every  white  hound's  tooth,  and  the  ice  in  the  tall  glasses 
clinked  ceaselessly. 

It  was  late  when  Quarrier  "  sat  in,"  with  an  ex 
pressionless  acknowledgment  of  Siward's  presence,  and 
an  emotionless  raid  upon  his  neighbour's  resources  with 
the  first  hand  dealt,  in  which  he  participated  without 
drawing  a  card. 

And  always  Siward,  eyes  on  his  cards,  seemed  to  see 
Quarrier  before  him,  his  overmanicured  fingers  caressing 
his  silky  beard,  the  symmetrical  pompadour  dark  and 
thick  as  the  winter  fur  on  a  rat,  tufting  his  smooth 
blank  forehead. 

It  was  very  late  when  Siward  first  began  to  be  aware 
of  his  increasing  deafness,  the  difficulty,  too,  that  he  had 
in  making  people  hear,  the  annoying  contempt  in  Quar- 
rier's  woman-like  eyes.  He  felt  that  he  was  making  a 
fool  of  himself,  very  noiselessly  somehow — but  with 
more  racket  than  he  expected  when  he  miscalculated  the 
distance  between  his  hand  and  a  decanter. 

It  was  time  for  him  to  go — unless  he  chose  to  ask 
Quarrier  for  an  explanation  of  that  sneer  which  he  found 
distasteful.  But  there  was  too  much  noise,  too  much 
laughter. 

Besides  he  had  a  matter  to  attend  to — the  careful 
perusal  of  his  mother's  letter  to  Mrs.  Ferrall. 

Very  white,  he  rose.  After  an  indeterminate  interval 
he  found  himself  entering  his  room. 

The  letter  was  in  the  dresser;  several  things  seemed 
70 


SHOTOVER 


to  fall  and  break,  but  he  got  the  letter,  sank  down  on 
the  bed's  edge  and  strove  to  read, — set  his  teeth  grimly, 
forcing  his  blurred  eyes  to  a  focus.  But  he  could  make 
nothing  of  it — nor  of  his  toilet  either,  nor  of  Ferrall, 
who  came  in  on  his  way  to  bed  having  noticed  the  elec 
tricity  still  in  full  glare  over  the  open  transom,  and  who 
straightened  out  matters  for  the  stunned  man  lying  face 
downward  across  the  bed,  his  mother's  letter  crushed  in 
his  nerveless  hand. 


71 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE    SEASON    OPENS 

BREAKFAST  at  Shotover,  except  for  the  luxurious 
sluggards  to  whom  trays  were  sent,  was  served  in  the 
English  fashion — any  other  method  or  compromise  be 
ing  impossible. 

Ferrall,  reasonable  in  most  things,  detested  customs 
exotic,  and  usually  had  an  Englishman  or  two  about  the 
house  to  tell  them  so,  being  unable  to  jeer  in  any  lan 
guage  except  his  own.  Which  is  partly  why  Alderdene 
and  Voucher  were  there.  And  this  British  sideboard 
breakfast  was  a  concession  wrung  from  him  through 
force  of  sheer  necessity,  although  the  custom  had  al 
ready  become  practically  universal  in  American  country 
houses  where  guests  were  entertained. 

But  at  the  British  breakfast  he  drew  the  line.  No 
army  of  servants,  always  in  evidence,  would  he  tolerate, 
either;  no  highly  ornamented  human  bric-a-brac  dec 
orating  halls  and  corners;  no  exotic  pheasants  hustled 
into  covert  and  out  again ;  no  fusilade  at  the  wretched, 
frightened,  bewildered  aliens  dumped  by  the  thousand 
into  unfamiliar  cover  and  driven  toward  the  guns  by 
improvised  beaters. 

"  We  walk  up  our  game  or  we  follow  a  brace  of  good 
dogs  in  this  white  man's  country,"  he  said  with  unneces 
sary  emphasis  whenever  his  bad  taste  and  his  wife's  ab 
sence  gave  him  an  opportunity  to  express  to  the  casual 
foreigner  his  personal  opinions  on  field  sport.  "  You'll 
load  your  own  guns  and  you'll  use  your  own  legs  if  you 

72 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


shoot  with  me ;  and  your  dogs  will  do  their  own  retrieving, 
too.  And  if  anybody  desires  a  Yankee's  opinion  on  shoot 
ing  driven  birds  from  rocking-chairs  or  potting  tame 
deer  from  grand-stands,  they  can  have  it  right  now !  " 

Usually  nobody  wanted  his  further  opinion;  and 
sometimes  they  got  it  and  sometimes  not,  if  his  wife  was 
within  earshot.  Otherwise  Ferrall  appeared  to  be  a 
normal  man,  energetically  devoted  to  his  business,  his 
pleasures,  his  friends,  and  comfortably  in  love  with  his 
wife.  And  if  some  considered  his  vigour  in  business  to 
be  lacking  in  mercy,  that  vigour  was  always  exercised 
within  the  law.  He  never  transgressed  the  rules  of  war, 
but  his  headlong  energy  sometimes  landed  him  close  to 
the  dead  line.  He  had  already  breakfasted,  when  the 
earliest  risers  entered  the  morning  room  to  saunter 
about  the  sideboards  and  investigate  the  simmering  con 
tents  of  silver-covered  dishes  on  the  warmers. 

The  fragrance  of  coffee  was  pleasantly  perceptible ; 
men  in  conventional  shooting  attire  roamed  about  the 
room,  selected  what  they  cared  for,  and  carried  it  to  the 
table.  Mrs.  Mortimer  was  there  consuming  peaches  that 
matched  her  own  complexion ;  Marion  Page,  always  more 
congruous  in  field  costume  and  belted  j  acket  than  in  any 
thing  else,  and  always,  like  her  own  hunters,  minutely 
groomed,  was  preparing  a  breakfast  for  her  own  con 
sumption  with  the  leisurely  precision  characteristic  of 
her  whether  in  the  saddle,  on  the  box,  or  grassing  her 
brace  of  any  covey  that  ever  flushed. 

Captain  Voucher  and  Lord  Alderdene  discussed  pros 
pects  between  bites,  attentive  to  the  monosyllabic  opinions 
of  Miss  Page.  Her  twin  brothers,  Gordon  and  Willis, 
shyly  consuming  oatmeal,  listened  respectfully  and 
waited  on  their  sister  at  the  slightest  lifting  of  her 
thinly  arched  eyebrows. 

73 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Into  this  company  sauntered  Siward,  apparently  no 
worse  for  wear.  For  as  yet  the  Enemy  had  set  upon  him 
no  proprietary  insignia  save  a  rather  becoming  pallor 
and  faint  bluish  shadows  under  the  eyes.  He  strolled 
about,  exchanging  amiable  greetings,  and  presently  se 
lected  a  chilled  grape  fruit  as  his  breakfast.  Opposite 
him  Mortimer,  breakfasting  upon  his  own  dreadful 
bracer  of  an  apple  soaked  in  port,  raised  his  heavy  in 
flamed  eyes  with  a  significant  leer  at  the  iced  grape 
fruit.  For  he  was  always  ready  to  make  room  upon 
his  own  level  for  other  men ;  but  the  wordless  grin  and 
the  bloodshot  welcome  were  calmly  ignored,  for  as  yet 
that  freemasonry  evoked  no  recognition  from  the  pallid 
man  opposite,  whose  hands  were  steady  as  though 
that  morning's  sun  had  wakened  him  from  pleasant 
dreams. 

"  The  most  difficult  shot  in  the  world,"  Alderdene 
was  explaining,  "  is  an  incoming  pheasant,  sailing  on 
a  slant  before  a  gale." 

"  A  woodcock  in  alders  doing  a  jack-snipe  twist  is 
worse,"  grunted  Mortimer,  drenching  another  apple  in 
port. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Page  tersely. 

"  Or  a  depraved  ruffed  cock-grouse  in  the  short 
pines ;  isn't  that  the  limit  ?  "  asked  Mortimer  of  Siward. 

But  Siward  only  shrugged  his  comment  and  glanced 
out  through  the  leaded  casements  into  the  brilliant  Sep 
tember  sunshine. 

Outside  he  could  see  Major  Belwether,  pink  skinned, 
snowy  chop  whiskers  brushed  rabbit  fashion,  very  volu 
ble  with  Sylvia  Landis,  who  listened  absently,  head 
partly  averted.  Quarrier  in  tweeds  and  gaiters,  his 
morning  cigar  delicately  balanced  in  his  gloved  fingers, 
strolled  near  enough  to  be  within  ear-shot;  and  when 

74 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


Sylvia's  inattention  to  Major  Belwether's  observations 
became  marked  to  the  verge  of  rudeness,  he  came  forward 
and  spoke.  But  whatever  it  was  that  he  said  appeared 
to  change  her  passive  inattention  to  quiet  displeasure, 
for,  as  Siward  rose  from  the  table,  he  saw  her  turn  on 
her  heel  and  walk  slowly  toward  a  group  of  dogs  pre 
sided  over  by  some  kennel  men  and  gamekeepers. 

She  was  talking  to  the  head  gamekeeper  when  he 
emerged  from  the  house,  but  she  saw  him  on  the  terrace 
and  gave  him  a  bright  nod  of  greeting,  so  close  to  an 
invitation  that  he  descended  the  stone  steps  and  crossed 
the  dew-wet  lawn. 

"  I  am  asking  Dawson  to  explain  just  exactly  what 
a  '  Shotover  Drive '  resembles,"  she  said,  turning  to  in 
clude  Siward  in  an  animated  conference  with  the  big, 
scraggy,  head  keeper.  "  You  know,  Mr.  Siward,  that 
it  is  a  custom  peculiar  to  Shotover  House  to  open  the 
season  with  what  is  called  a  Shotover  Drive?" 

"  I  heard  Alderdene  talking  about  it,"  he  said,  smil 
ingly  inspecting  the  girl's  attire  of  khaki  with  its  but 
toned  pockets,  gun  pads,  and  Cossack  cartridge  loops, 
and  the  tan  knee-kilts  hanging  heavily  pleated  over 
gaiters  and  little  thick-soled  shoes.  He  had  never  cared 
very  much  to  see  women  afield,  for,  in  a  rare  case  where 
there  was  no  affectation,  there  was  something  else  inborn 
that  he  found  unpleasant — something  lacking  about  a 
woman  who  could  take  life  from  frightened  wild  things, 
something  shocking  that  a  woman  could  look,  unmoved, 
upon  a  twitching,  blood-soiled  heap  of  feathers  at  her 
feet. 

Meanwhile  Dawson,  dog-whip  at  salute,  stood  knee 
deep  among  his  restless  setters,  explaining  the  ceremony 
with  which  Mr.  Ferrall  ushered  in  the  opening  of  each 
shooting  season: 

75 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 


"  It's  our  own  idee,  Miss  Landis,"  he  said  proudly ; 
"  onc't  a  season  Mr.  Ferrall  and  his  guests  likes  it  for 
a  mixed  bag.  'Tis  a  sort  of  picnic,  Miss;  the  guns  is 
in  pairs,  sixty  yards  apart  in  line,  an'  the  rules  is,  walk 
straight  ahead,  dogs  to  heel  until  first  cover  is  reached ; 
fire  straight  or  to  quarter,  never  blankin'  nor  wipin'  no 
eyes ;  and  ground  game  counts  as  feathers  for  the  Shot- 
over  Cup." 

"  Oh !  It's  a  skirmish  line  that  walks  straight 
ahead?  "  said  Siward,  nodding. 

"  Straight  ahead,  Sir.  No  stoppin',  no  turnin'  for 
hedges,  fences,  water  or  rock.  There  is  boats  f'r  deep 
water  and  fords  marked  and  corduroy  f'r  io  pass  the 
Seven  Dreens.  Luncheon  at  one,  Miss — an  hour's  rest 
— then  straight  on  over  hill,  valley,  rock,  and  river  to 
the  rondyvoo  atop  Osprey  Ledge.  You'll  see  the  poles 
and  the  big  nests,  Sir.  It's  there  they  score  for  the  cup, 
and  there  when  the  bag  is  counted,  the  traps  are  ready 
to  carry  you  home  again."  .  .  .  And  to  Siward :  "  Will 
you  draw  for  your  lady,  Sir?  It  is  the  custom." 

"  Are  you  my  '  lady  '?  "  he  asked,  turning  to  Sylvia. 

"  Do  you  want  me?  " 

In  the  smiling  lustre  of  her  eyes  the  tiniest  spark 
flashed  out  at  him — a  hint  of  defiance  for  somebody, 
perhaps  for  Major  Belwether  who  had  taken  consider 
able  pains  to  enlighten  her  as  to  Siward's  condition  the 
night  before;  perhaps  also  for  Quarrier,  who  had 
naturally  expected  to  act  as  her  gun-bearer  in  emer 
gencies.  But  the  gaily  veiled  malice  of  the  one  had 
annoyed  her,  and  the  cold  assumption  of  the  other  had 
irritated  her,  and  she  had,  scarcely  knowing  why,  turned 
her  shoulder  to  both  of  these  gentlemen  with  an  indefi 
nite  idea  of  escaping  a  pressure,  amounting  almost  to 
critical  importunity. 

76 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


"  I'm  probably  a  poor  shot?  "  she  said,  looking  smil 
ingly,  straight  into  Siward's  eyes.     "  But  if  you'll  take 


me " 


"  I  will  with  pleasure,"  he  said ;  "  Dawson,  do 
we  draw  for  position  ?  Very  well  then " ;  and  he 
drew  a  slip  of  paper  from  the  box  offered  by  the  head 
keeper. 

"  Number  seven ! "  said  Sylvia,  looking  over  his 
shoulder.  "  Come  out  to  the  starting  line,  Mr.  Siward. 
All  the  positions  are  marked  with  golf-discs.  What 
sort  of  ground  have  we  ahead,  Dawson  ?  " 

"  Kind  o'  stiff,  Miss,"  grinned  the  keeper.  "  Pity 
your  gentleman  ain't  drawed  the  meadows  an'  Sachem 
Hill  line.  Will  you  choose  your  dog,  Sir?  " 

"  You  have  your  dog,  you  know,"  observed  Sylvia 
demurely.  And  Siward,  glancing  among  the  impatient 
setters,  saw  one  white,  heavily  feathered  dog,  straining 
at  his  leagh,  and  wagging  frantically,  brown  eyes  fixed 
on  him. 

The  next  moment  Sagamore  was  free,  devouring  his 
master  with  caresses,  the  girl  looking  on  in  smiling 
silence;  and  presently,  side  by  side,  the  man,  the  girl, 
and  the  dog  were  strolling  off  to  the  starting  line  where 
already  people  were  gathering  in  groups,  selecting  dogs, 
fowling-pieces,  comparing  numbers,  and  discussing  the 
merits  of  their  respective  lines  of  advance. 

Ferrall,  busily  energetic,  and  in  high  spirits,  greeted 
them  gaily,  pointing  out  the  red  disc  bearing  their  num 
ber,  seven,  where  it  stood  out  distinctly  above  the  distant 
scrub  of  the  foreland. 

"  You  two  are  certainly  up  against  it ! "  he  said, 
grinning.  "  There's  only  one  rougher  line,  and  you're 
in  for  thorns  and  water  and  a  scramble  across  the  back 
bone  of  the  divide !  " 

77 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  Is  it  any  good?  "  asked  Siward. 

"  Good — if  you've  got  the  legs  and  Sylvia  doesn't 
play  baby " 

"  I?  "  she  said  indignantly.  "  Kemp,  you  annoy  me. 
And  I  will  bet  you  now,"  she  added,  flushing,  "  that 
your  old  cup  is  ours." 

"  Wait,"  said  Siward,  laughing,  "  we  may  not  shoot 
straight." 

"  You  will !    Kemp,  I'll  wager  whatever  you  dare !  " 

"  Gloves  ?  Stockings  ? — against  a  cigarette  case  ?  " 
he  suggested. 

"  Done,"  she  said  disdainfully,  moving  forward 
along  the  skirmish  line  with  a  nod  and  smile  for  the 
groups  now  disintegrating  into  couples,  the  Page  boys 
with  Eileen  Shannon  and  Rena  Bonnesdel,  Marion  Page 
followed  by  Alderdene,  Mrs.  Vendenning  and  Major 
Belwether  and  the  Tassel  girl  convoyed  by  Leroy  Mor 
timer.  Farther  along  the  line,  taking  post,  she  saw 
Quarrier  and  Miss  Caithness,  Captain  Voucher  with  Mrs. 
Mortimer,  and  others  too  distant  to  recognise,  moving 
across  country  with  glitter  and  glint  of  sunlight  on 
slanting  gun  barrels. 

And  now  Ferrall  was  climbing  into  his  saddle  beside 
his  pretty  wife,  who  sat  her  horse  like  a  boy,  the  white 
flag  lifted  high  in  the  sunshine,  watching  the  firing  line 
until  the  last  laggard  was  in  position. 

"All  right,  Grace!"  said  Ferrall  briskly.  Down 
went  the  white  flag ;  the  far-ranged  line  started  into  mo 
tion  straight  across  country,  dogs  at  heel. 

From  her  saddle  Mrs.  Ferrall  could  see  the  advance, 
strung  out  far  afield  from  the  dark  spots  moving  along 
the  Fells  boundary,  to  the  two  couples  traversing  the 
salt  meadows  to  north.  Crack !  A  distant  report  came 
faintly  over  the  uplands  against  the  wind. 

78 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


"  Voucher,"  observed  Ferrall ;  "  probably  a  snipe. 
Hark !  he's  struck  them  again,  Grace." 

Mrs.  Ferrall,  watching  curiously,  saw  Siward's  gun 
fly  up  as  two  big  dark  spots  floated  up  from  the  marsh 
and  went  swinging  over  his  head.  Crack!  Crack! 
Down  sheered  the  black  spots,  tumbling  earthward  out 
of  the  sky. 

"Duck,"  said  Ferrall;  "a  double  for  Stephen. 
Lord  Harry !  how  that  man  can  shoot !  Isn't  it  a  pity 
that "  * 

He  said  no  more;  his  pretty  wife  astride  her  thor 
oughbred  sat  silent,  grey  eyes  fixed  on  the  distant  figures 
of  Sylvia  Landis  and  Siward,  now  shoulder  deep  in  the 
reeds. 

"  Was  it — very  bad  last  night  ?  "  she  asked  in  a 
low  voice. 

Ferrall  shrugged.  "  He  was  not  offensive ;  he 
walked  steadily  enough  up-stairs.  When  I  went  into 
his  room  he  lay  on  the  bed  as  if  he'd  been  struck  by 
lightning.  And  yet — you  see  how  he  is  this  morn- 
ing?" 

"  After  a  while,"  his  wife  said,  "  it  is  going  to  alter 
him  some  day — dreadfully — isn't  it,  Kemp  ?  " 

"You  mean — like  Mortimer?" 

"  Yes — only  Leroy  was  always  a  pig." 

As  they  turned  their  horses  toward  the  high-road 
Mrs.  Ferrall  said :  "  Do  you  know  why  Sylvia  isn't  shoot 
ing  with  Howard  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  her  husband  indifferently ;  "  do  you  ?  " 

"  No."  She  looked  out  across  the  sunlit  ocean,  grave 
grey  eyes  brightening  with  suppressed  mischief.  "  But 
I  half  suspect." 

"What?" 

"  Oh,  all  sorts  of  things,  Kemp." 
79 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  What's  one  of  'em  ?  "  asked  Ferrall,  looking  around 
at  her  ;  but  his  wife  only  laughed. 

"  You  don't  mean  she's  throwing  her  flies  at  Si- 
ward  —  now  that  you've  hooked  Quarrier  for  her!  I 
thought  she'd  played  him  to  the  gaff  -  " 

"  Please  don't  be  coarse,  Kemp,"  said  Mrs.  Ferrall, 
sending  her  horse  forward.  Her  husband  spurred  to  her 
side,  and  without  turning  her  head  she  continued  :  "  Of 
course  Sylvia  won't  be  foolish.  If  they  were  only  safely 
married  ;  but  Howard  is  such  a  pill  -  " 

"  What  does  Sylvia  expect  with  Howard's  millions  ? 
A  man?" 

Grace  Ferrall  drew  bridle.  "  The  curious  thing  is, 
Kemp,  that  she  liked  him." 


"  No,  liked  him.  I  saw  how  it  was  ;  she  took  his  si 
lences  for  intellectual  meditation,  his  gallery,  his  library, 
his  smatterings  for  expressions  of  a  cultivated  person 
ality.  Then  she  remembered  how  close  she  came  to  run 
ning  off  with  that  cashiered  Englishman,  and  that 
scared  her  into  clutching  the  substantial  in  the  shape 
of  Howard.  .  .  .  Still,  I  wish  I  hadn't  meddled." 

"  Meddled  how?  " 

"  Oh,  I  told  her  to  do  it.  We  had  talks  until  day 
light.  .  .  .  She  may  marry  him  —  I  don't  know  —  but  if 
you  think  any  live  woman  could  be  contented  with  a  muff 
like  that!  " 

"  That's  immoral." 

"  Kemp,  I'm  not.  She'd  be  mad  not  to  marry  him  ; 
but  I  don't  know  what  I'd  do  to  a  man  like  that,  if  I  were 
his  wife.  And  you  know  what  a  terrific  capacity  for 
mischief  there  is  in  Sylvia.  Some  day  she's  going  to  love 
somebody.  And  it  isn't  likely  to  be  Howard.  And,  oh, 
Kemp!  I  do  grow  so  tired  of  that  sort  of  thing. 

80 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


Do  you   suppose   anybody    will   ever   make   decency    a 
fashion?" 

"  You're  doing  your  best,"  said  Ferrall,  laughing 
at  his  wife's  pretty,  boyish  face  turned  back  toward  him 
over  her  shoulder ;  "  you're  presenting  your  cousin  and 
his  millions  to  a  girl  who  can  dress  the  part " 

"  Don't,  Kemp !  I  don't  know  why  I  meddled ! 
...  I  wish  I  hadn't " 

"I  do.  You  can't  let  Howard  alone !  You're  per 
fectly  possessed  to  plague  him  when  he's  with  you,  and 
now  you've  arranged  for  another  woman  to  keep  it  up  for 
the  rest  of  his  lifetime.  What  does  Sylvia  want  with  a 
man  who  possesses  the  instincts  and  intellect  of  a  coach 
man  ?  She  is  asked  everywhere,  she  has  her  own  money. 
Why  not  let  her  alone  ?  Or  is  it  too  late  ?  " 

"  You  mean  let  her  make  a  fool  of  herself  with 
Stephen  Siward?  That  is  where  she  is  drifting." 

"  Do  you  think " 

"  Yes,  I  do.  She  has  a  perfect  genius  for  selecting 
the  wrong  man;  and  she's  already  sorry  for  this  one. 
I'm  sorry  for  Stephen,  too;  but  it's  safe  for  me  to  be." 

"  She  might  make  something  of  him." 

"  You  know  perfectly  well  no  woman  ever  did 
make  anything  of  a  doomed  man.  He'd  kill  her — I 
mean  it,  Kemp !  He  would  literally  kill  her  with  grief. 
She  isn't  like  Leila  Mortimer;  she  isn't  like  most  girls 
of  her  sort.  You  men  think  her  a  rather  stunning, 
highly  tempered,  unreasonable  young  girl,  with  a  re 
serve  of  sufficiently  trained  intelligence  to  marry  the 
best  our  market  offers — and  close  her  eyes; — a  thor 
oughbred  with  the  caprices  of  one,  but  also  with  the 
grafted  instinct  for  proper  mating." 

"  Well,  that's  all  right,  isn't  it?"  asked  Ferrall. 
"  That's  the  way  I  size  her  up.  Isn't  it  correct?  " 

81 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  Yes,  in  a  way.  She  has  all  the  expensive  training 
of  the  thoroughbred — and  all  the  ignorance,  too.  She 
is  cold-blooded  because  wholesome ;  a  trifle  sceptical  be 
cause  so  absolutely  unawakened.  She  never  experienced 
a  deep  emotion.  Impulses  have  intoxicated  her  once  or 
twice — as  when  she  asked  my  opinion  about  running 
off  with  Cavendish,  and  that  boy  and  girl  escapade 
with  Rivington;  nothing  at  all  except  high  mettle,  the 
innocent  daring  lurking  in  all  thoroughbreds,  and  a 
great  deal  of  very  red  blood  racing  through  that  su 
perb  young  body.  But,"  Ferrall  reined  in  to  listen, 
"  but  if  ever  a  man  awakens  her — I  don't  care  who 
he  is — you'll  see  a  girl  you  never  knew,  a  brand-new 
creature  emerge  with  the  last  rags  and  laces  of  conven 
tionality  dropping  from  her;  a  woman,  Kemp,  heiress 
to  every  generous  impulse,  every  emotion,  every  vice, 
every  virtue  of  all  that  brilliant  race  of  hers." 

"  You  seem  to  know,"  he  said,  amused  and  curious. 

"  /  know.  Major  Belwether  told  me  that  he  had 
thought  of  Howard  as  an  anchor  for  her.  It  seemed  a 
pity — Howard  with  all  his  cold,  heavy  negative  inertia. 
...  I  said  I'd  do  it.  I  did.  And  now  I  don't  know; 
I  wish,  almost  wish  I  hadn't. 

"  What  has  changed  your  ideas  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Howard  is  safer  than  Stephen  Si- 
ward,  already  in  the  first  clutches  of  his  master-vice. 
Would  you  mate  what  she  inherits  from  her  mother  and 
her  mother's  mother,  with  what  is  that  poor  boy's  heri 
tage  from  the  Siwards  ?  " 

"  After  all,"  observed  Ferrall  dryly,  "  we're  not  in 
the  angel-breeding  business." 

"  We  ought  to  be.  Every  decent  person  ought  to  be. 
If  they  were,  inherited  vice  would  be  as  rare  in  this 
country  as  smallpox !  " 

82 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


"  People  don't  inherit  smallpox,  dear." 

"  Never  mind !  You  know  what  I  mean.  In  our 
stock  farms  and  kennels,  we  weed  out,  destroy,  extermi 
nate  hereditary  weakness  in  everything.  We  pay  the 
greatest  attention  to  the  production  of  all  offspring 
except  our  own.  Look  at  Stephen !  How  dared  his 
parents  bring  him  into  the  world?  Look  at  Sylvia! 
And  now,  suppose  they  marry  !  " 

"  Dearest,"  said  Ferrall,  "  my  head  is  a  whirl  and 
my  wits  are  spinning  like  five  toy  tops.  Your  theo 
ries  are  all  right;  but  unless  you  and  I  are  prepared 
to  abandon  several  business  enterprises  and  take  to  the 
lecture  platform,  I'm  afraid  people  are  going  to  be 
wicked  enough  to  marry  whom  they  like,  and  the  human 
race  will  be  run  as  usual  with  money  the  favourite,  and 
love  a  case  of  '  also-ran.'  .  .  .  By  the  way,  how  dared 
you  marry  me,  knowing  the  sort  of  demon  I  am?  " 

The  gathering  frown  on  Mrs.  Ferrall's  brow  faded ; 
she  raised  her  clear  grey  eyes  and  met  her  husband's 
gaze,  gay,  humourous,  and  with  a  hint  of  tenderness — 
enough  to  bring  the  colour  into  her  pretty  face. 

"  You  know  I'm  right,  Kemp." 

"  Always,  dear.  And  now  that  we  have  the  world 
off  our  hands  for  a  few  minutes,  suppose  we  gallop?  " 

But  she  held  her  horse  to  a  walk,  riding  forward, 
grave,  thoughtful,  preoccupied  with  a  new  problem,  only 
part  of  which  she  had  told  her  husband. 

For  that  night  she  had  been  awakened  in  her  bed  to 
find  standing  beside  her  a  white,  wide-eyed  figure,  shiver 
ing,  limbs  a-chill  beneath  her  clinging  lace.  She  had 
taken  the  pallid  visitor  to  her  arms  and  warmed  her  and 
soothed  her  and  whispered  to  her,  murmuring  the  thou 
sand  little  words  and  sounds,  the  breathing  magic  moth 
ers  use  with  children.  And  Sylvia  lay  there,  chilled, 

83 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

nerveless,  silent,  ignorant  why  her  sleeplessness  had 
turned  to  restlessness,  to  loneliness,  to  an  awakening  per 
ception  of  what  she  lacked  and  needed  and  began  to 
desire.  For  that  sad  void,  peopled  at  intervals  through 
her  brief  years  with  a  vague  mother-phantom,  had,  in  the 
new  crisis  of  her  career,  become  suddenly  an  empty  deso 
lation,  frightening  her  with  her  own  utter  isolation.  Fill 
it  now  she  could  not,  now  that  she  needed  that  ghost  of 
child-comfort,  that  shadowy  refuge,  that  sweet  shape 
she  had  fashioned  out  of  dreams  to  symbolise  a  mother 
she  had  never  known. 

Driven  she  knew  not  why,  she  had  crept  from  her 
room  in  search  of  the  still,  warm,  fragrant  nest  and  the 
whispered  reassurance  and  the  caress  she  had  never  before 
endured.  Yes,  now  she  craved  it,  invited  it,  longed  for 
safe  arms  around  her,  the  hovering  hand  on  her  hair. 
Was  this  Sylvia? 

And  Grace  Ferrall,  clearing  her  sleepy  eyes,  amazed, 
incredulous  of  the  cold,  child-like  hands  upon  her 
shoulders,  caught  her  in  her  arms  with  a  little  laugh  and 
sob  and  drew  her  to  her  breast,  to  soothe  and  caress  and 
reassure,  to  make  up  to  her  all  she  could  of  what  is  every 
child's  just  heritage. 

And  for  a  long  while  Sylvia,  lying  there,  told  her 
nothing — because  she  did  not  know  how — merely  a 
word,  a  restless  question  half  ashamed,  barely  enough 
to  shadow  forth  the  something  stirring  her  toward  an 
awakening  in  a  new  world,  where  with  new  eyes  she 
might  catch  glimpses  of  those  dim  and  splendidly  misty 
visions  that  float  through  sunlit  silences  when  a  young 
girl  dreams  awake. 

And  at  length,  gravely,  innocently,  she  spoke  of 
her  engagement,  and  the  worldly  possibilities  before  her ; 
of  the  man  she  was  to  marry,  and  her  new  and  unex- 

84 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


pected  sense  of  loneliness  in  his  presence,  now  that  she 
had  seen  him  again  after  months. 

She  spoke,  presently,  of  Siward — a  fugitive  ques 
tion  or  two,  offered  indifferently  at  first,  then  with  shy 
persistence  and  curiosity,  knowing  nothing  of  the  sense 
less  form  flung  face  downward  across  the  sheets  in  a 
room  close  by.  And  thereafter  the  murmured  burden 
of  the  theme  was  Siward,  until  one,  heavy  eyed,  turned 
from  the  white  dawn  silvering  the  windows,  sighed,  and 
fell  asleep ;  and  one  lay  silent,  head  half  buried  in  its 
tangled  gold,  wide  awake,  thinking  vague  thoughts  that 
had  no  ending,  no  beginning.  And  at  last  a  rosy  bar 
of  light  fell  across  the  wall,  and  the  warm  shadows 
faded  from  corner  and  curtain;  and,  turning  on  the 
pillow,  her  face  nestled  in  her  hair,  she  fell  asleep. 

Nothing  of  this  had  Mrs.  Ferrall  told  her  husband. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  had  Sylvia  suffered  the 
caresses  most  women  invite  or  naturally  lavish;  for  the 
first  time  had  she  attempted  confidences,  failing  because 
she  did  not  know  how,  but  curiously  contented  with  the 
older  woman's  arms  around  her. 

There  was  a  change  in  Sylvia,  a  great  change 
stealing  in  upon  her  as  she  lay  there,  breathing  like  a 
child,  flushed  lips  scarcely  parted.  Through  the  early 
slanting  sunlight  the  elder  woman,  leaning  on  one  arm, 
looked  down  at  her,  grey  eyes  very  grave  and  tender 
— wise,  sweet  eyes  that  divined  with  their  pure  clairvoy 
ance  all  that  might  happen  or  might  fail  to  come  to 
pass  in  this  great  change  stealing  over  Sylvia. 

Nothing  of  this  could  her  husband  understand  had 
she  words  to  convey  it.  There  was  nothing  he  need 

85 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

understand  except  that  his  wife,  meaning  well,  had  med 
dled  and  regretted. 

And  now,  turning  in  her  saddle  with  a  pretty  ges 
ture  of  her  shoulders: 

"  I  meddle  no  more !  Those  who  need  me  may  come 
to  me.  Now  laugh  at  my  tardy  wisdom,  Kemp !  " 

"  It's  no  laughing  matter,"  he  said,  "  if  you're  going 
to  stand  back  and  let  this  abandoned  world  spin  itself 
madly  to  the  bow-wows " 

"  Don't  be  horrid.  I  repent.  The  mischief  take 
Howard  Quarrier !  " 

"  Amen !   Come  on,  Grace." 

She  gathered  bridle.  "  Do  you  suppose  Stephen 
Siward  is  going  to  make  trouble?  " 

"  How  can  he  unless  she  helps  him  ?  Nonsense ! 
All's  well  with  Siward  and  Sylvia.  Shall  we  gallop?" 

All  was  very  well  with  Siward  and  Sylvia.  They  had 
passed  the  rabbit-brier  country  scathless,  with  two  black 
mallard,  a  jack-snipe,  and  a  rabbit  to  the  credit  of  their 
score,  and  were  now  advancing -through  that  dimly  lit 
enchanted  land  of  tall  grey  alders  where,  in  the  sudden 
twilight  of  the  leaves,  woodcock  after  woodcock  flut 
tered  upward  twittering,  only  to  stop  and  drop,  trans 
formed  at  the  vicious  crack  of  Siward's  gun  to  fluffy 
balls  of  feather  whirling  earthward  from  mid-air. 

Sagamore  came  galloping  back  with  a  soft,  unsoiled 
mass  of  chestnut  and  brown  feathers  in  his  mouth. 
Siward  took  the  dead  cock,  passed  it  back  to  the  keeper 
who  followed  them,  patted  the  beautiful  eager  dog  and 
signalled  him  forward  once  more. 

"  You  should  have  fired  that  time,"  he  said  to  Sylvia 
— "  that  is,  if  you  care  to  kill  anything." 

"  But  I  don't  seem  to  be  able  to,"  she  said.  "  It 
86 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


isn't  a  bit  like  shooting  at  clay  targets.  The  twittering 
whirr  takes  me  by  surprise — it's  all  so  charmingly  sud 
den — and  my  heart  seems  to  stop  in  one  beat,  and  I 
look  and  look  and  then — whisk!  the  woodcock  is  gone, 
leaving  me  breathless " 

Her  voice  ceased;  the  white  setter,  cutting  up  his 
ground  ahead,  had  stopped,  rigid,  one  leg  raised,  jaws 
quivering  and  locking  alternately. 

"  Isn't  that  a  stunning  picture ! "  said  Siward  in 
a  low  voice.  "  What  a  beauty  he  is — like  a  statue  in 
white  and  blue-veined  marble.  You  may  talk,  Miss  Lan- 
dis;  woodcock  don't  flush  at  the  sound  of  the  human 
voice  as  grouse  do." 

"  See  his  brown  eyes  roll  back  at  us !  He  wonders 
why  we  don't  do  something ! "  whispered  the  girl. 
"  Look,  Mr.  Siward !  Now  his  head  is  moving — oh  so 
gradually  to  the  left !  " 

"  The  bird  is  moving  on  the  ground,"  nodded  Si- 
ward  ;  "  now  the  bird  has  stopped." 

"  I  do  wish  I  could  see  a  woodcock  on  the  ground," 
she  breathed.  "  Do  you  think  we  might  by  any  chance?  " 

Siward  noiselessly  sank  to  his  knees  and  crouched, 
keen  eyes  minutely  busy  among  the  shadowy  browns  and 
greys  of  wet  earth  and  withered  leaf.  And  after  a 
while,  cautiously,  he  signalled  the  girl  to  kneel  beside 
him,  and  stretched  out  one  arm,  forefinger  extended. 

"  Sight  straight  along  my  arm,"  he  said,  "  as  though 
it  were  a  rifle  barrel." 

Her  soft  cheek  rested  against  his  shoulder;  a  stray 
strand  of  shining  hair  brushing  his  face. 

"Under  that  bunch  of  fern,"  he  whispered;  "just 
the    colour    of    the    dead    leaves.      Do    you    see?  .  .  . 
Don't   you   see   that   big   woodcock    squatted   flat,   bill 
pointed  straight  out  and  resting  on  the  leaves  ?  " 
7  87 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

After  a  long  while  she  saw,  suddenly,  and  an  ex 
quisite  little  shock  tightened  her  fingers  on  Siward's 
extended  arm. 

"  Oh,  the  feathered  miracle !  "  she  whispered ;  "  the 
wonder  of  its  cleverness  to  hide  like  that !  You  look  and 
look  and  stare,  seeing  it  all  the  while  and  not  knowing 
that  you  see  it.  Then  in  a  flash  it  is  there,  motionless, 
a  brown-shaped  shadow  among  shadows.  .  .  .  The  dear 
little  thing!  .  .  .  Mr.  Siward,  do  you  think — are  you 
going  to " 

"  No,  I  won't  shoot  it." 

"  Thank  you.  .  .  .  Might  I  sit  here  a  moment  to 
watch  it?" 

She  seated  herself  soundlessly  among  the  dead  leaves ; 
he  sank  into  place  beside  her,  laying  his  gun  aside. 

"  Rather  rough  on  the  dog,"  he  said  with  a  grimace. 

"  I  know.  It  is  very  good  of  you,  Mr.  Siward  .  .  . 
to  do  this  for  my  pleasure.  Oh — h !  Do  you  see !  Oh, 
the  little  beauty !  " 

The  woodcock  had  risen,  plumage  puffed  out,  strut 
ting  with  wings  bowed  and  tail  spread,  facing  the  dog. 
The  sudden  pigmy  defiance  thrilled  her.  "  Brave ! 
Brave !  "  she  exclaimed,  enraptured ;  but  at  the  sound  of 
her  voice  the  bird  crouched  like  a  flash,  large  dark  liquid 
eyes  shining,  long  bill  pointed  straight  toward  them. 

"  He'll  fly  the  way  his  bill  points,"  said  Siward. 
"Watch!" 

He  rose ;  she  sprang  lightly  to  her  feet ;  there  came 
a  whirring  flutter,  a  twittering  shower  of  sweet  notes, 
soft  wings  beating  almost  in  their  very  faces,  a  distant 
shadow  against  the  sky,  and  the  woodcock  was  gone. 

Quieting  the  astounded  dog,  gun  cradled  in  the  hol 
low  of  his  left  arm,  he  turned  to  the  girl  beside  him: 
"  That  sort  of  thing  wins  no  cups,"  he  said. 

88 


* 
THE   SEASON   OPENS 


"  It  wins  something  else,  Mr.  Siward, — my  very 
warm  regard  for  you." 

"  There  is  no  choice  between  that  and  the  Shotover 
Cup,"  he  admitted,  considering  her. 

"  I — do  you  mean  it  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do,  vigorously ! " 

"  Then  you  are  much  nicer  than  I  thought  you. 
.  .  .  And  after  all,  if  the  price  of  a  cup  is  the  life  of 
that  brave  little  bird,  I  had  rather  shoot  clay  pigeons. 
Now  you  will  scorn  me  I  suppose.  Begin !  " 

"  My  ideal  woman  has  never  been  a  life-taker,"  he 
said  coolly.  "  Once,  when  I  was  a  boy,  there  was  a 
girl — very  lovely — my  first  sweetheart.  I  saw  her  at 
the  traps  once,  just  after  she  had  killed  her  seventh 
pigeon  straight,  '  pulling  it  down  '  from  overhead,  you 
know — very  clever — the  little  thing  was  breathing  on 
the  grass,  and  it  made  sounds — "  He  shrugged  and 
walked  on.  "  She  killed  her  twenty-first  bird  straight ; 
it  was  a  handsome  cup,  too." 

And  after  a  silence,  "  So  you  didn't  love  her  any 
more,  Mr.  Siward?  " — mockingly  sweet. 

They  laughed,  and  at  the  sound  of  laughter  the  tall- 
stemmed  alders  echoed  with  the  rushing  roar  of  a  cock- 
grouse  thundering  skyward.  Crack!  Crack!  Whirl 
ing  over  and  over  through  a  cloud  of  floating  feathers, 
a  heavy  weight  struck  the  springy  earth.  There  lay 
the  big  mottled  bird,  splendid  silky  ruffs  spread,  dead 
eyes  closing,  a  single  tiny  crimson  bead  twinkling  like 
a  ruby  on  the  gaping  beak. 

"  Dead ! "  said  Siward  to  the  dog  who  had  dropped 
to  shot ;  "  Fetch !  "  And,  signalling  the  boy  behind,  he 
relieved  the  dog  of  his  burden  and  tossed  the  dead 
weight  of  ruffled  plumage  toward  him.  Then  he  broke 
his  gun,  and,  as  the  empty  shells  flew  rattling  backward, 

89 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

slipped  in  fresh  cartridges,  locked  the  barrels,  and 
walked  forward,  the  flush  of  excitement  still  staining 
his  sunburnt  face. 

"  You  deal  death  mercifully,"  said  the  girl  in  a  low 
voice.  "  I  wonder  what  your  ci-devant  sweetheart  would 
think  of  you." 

"  A  bungler  had  better  stick  to  the  traps,"  he  as 
sented,  ignoring  the  badinage. 

"  I  am  wondering,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "  what 
7  think  of  men  who  kill." 

He  turned  sharply,  hesitated,  shrugged.  "  Wild 
things'  lives  are  brief  at  best — fox  or  flying-tick,  wet 
nests  or  mink,  owl,  hawk,  weasel  or  man.  But  the  death 
man  deals  is  the  most  merciful.  Besides,"  he  added, 
laughing,  "  ours  is  not  a  case  of  sweethearts." 

"  My  argument  is  purely  in  the  abstract,  Mr.  Si- 
ward.  I  am  asking  you  whether  the  death  men  deal  is 
more  justifiable  than  a  woman's  gift  of  death?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  life-taking,  the  giving  of  life — there 
can  be  only  one  answer  to  the  mystery ;  and  I  don't  know 
it,"  he  replied  smiling. 

"  I  do." 

"  Tell  me  then,"  he  said,  still  amused. 

They  had  passed  swale  after  swale  of  silver  birches, 
waist  deep  in  perfumed  fern  and  brake ;  the  big  timber 
lay  before  them.  She  moved  forward,  light  gun  swung 
easily  across  her  leather-padded  shoulder;  and  on  the 
wood's  sunny  edge  she  seated  herself,  straight  young 
back  against  a  giant  pine,  gun  balanced  across  her  flat 
tened  knees. 

"  You  are  feeling  the  pace  a  little,"  he  said,  coming 
up  and  standing  in  front  of  her. 

"  The  pace?     No,  Mr.  Siward." 

"  Are  you  a  trifle — bored  ?  "  She  considered  him 
90 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


in  silence,  then  leaned  back  luxuriously,   rounded  arms 
raised,  wrists  crossed  to  pillow  her  head. 

"  This  is  charmingly  new  to  me,"  she  said  simply. 

"What?     Not  the  open?" 

"  No ;  I  have  camped  and  done  the  usual  roughing 
it  with  only  three  guides  apiece  and  the  champagne  in 
adequately  chilled.  I  have  endured  that  sort  of  hard 
ship  several  times,  Mr.  Siward.  .  .  .  What  is  that  furry 
bunch  up  there  in  that  tall  thin  tree  ?  " 

"  A  raccoon,"  he  said  presently.  "  Can  you  see  the 
foxy  head  peeping  so  slyly  down  at  us?  Look  at  Saga 
more  nosing  the  air  in  that  droll  blind  mole-like  way. 
He  knows  there's  something  furry  up  aloft  somewhere ; 
and  he  knows  it's  none  of  his  business." 

They  watched  the  motionless  ball  of  fur  in  the  crotch 
of  a  slim  forest  elm.  Presently  it  uncurled,  cautiously ; 
a  fluffy  ringed  tail  unfolded;  the  rounded  furry  back 
humped  up,  and  the  animal,  moving  slowly  into  the  tan 
gent  foliage  of  an  enormous  oak,  vanished  amid  bronzing 
leafy  depths. 

In  the  silence  the  birds  began  to  reappear.  A  jay 
screamed  somewhere  deep  in  the  yellowing  woods ;  black- 
capped  chickadees  dropped  from  twig  to  twig,  cheeping 
inquiringly. 

She  sat  listening,  bright  head  pillowed  in  her  arms, 
idly  attentive  to  his  low  running  comment  on  beast  and 
bird  and  tree,  on  forest  stillness  and  forest  sounds,  on 
life  and  the  wild  laws  of  life  and  death  governing  the 
great  out-world  'twixt  sky  and  earth.  Sunlight  and 
shadows  moving,  speech  and  silence,  waxed  and  waned. 
A  listless  contentment  lay  warm  upon  her,  weighting 
the  heavy  white  lids.  The  blue  of  her  eyes  was  very 
dark  now — almost  purple  like  the  colour  of  the  sea  when 
the  wind-flaws  turn  the  blue  to  violet. 

91 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  '  Lesser  Children  '  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  Listen  then : 

"  '  Multitudes,  multitudes,  under  the  moon  they  stirred! 
The  weaker  brothers  of  our  earthly  breed;  .   .  . 
.   .  .  All  came  about  my  head  and  at  my  feet 
A  thousand  thousand  sweet, 
With  starry  eyes  not  even  raised  to  plead: 
Bewildered,  driven,  hiding,  fluttering,  mute! 

And  I  beheld  and  saw  them  one  by  one 
Pass,  and  become  as  nothing  in  the  night.* 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  means  ? 

"  *  Winged  mysteries  of  song  that  from  the  sky 
Once  dashed  long  music  down — ' 

"Do  you  understand?  "  she  asked,  smiling. 

*' '  Who  has  not  seen  in  the  high  gulf  of  light 
What,  lower,  was  a  bird !  " 

She  ceased,  and,  raising  her  eyes  to  his :  "  Do  you 
know  that  plea  for  mercy  on  the  lesser  children  who  die 
all  day  to-day  because  the  season  opens  for  your  pleasure, 
Mr.  Siward?" 

"  Is  it  a  woodland  sermon? "  he  inquired,  too 
politely. 

"  The  poem  ?  No ;  it  is  the  case  for  the  prosecution. 
The  prisoner  may  defend  himself  if  he  can." 

"  The  defence  rests,"  he  said.  "  The  prisoner  moves 
that  he  be  discharged." 

"  Motion  denied,"  she  interrupted  promptly. 

Somewhere  in  the  woodland  world  the  crows  were 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


holding  a  noisy  session,  and  she  told  him  that  was  the 
jury  debating  the  degree  of  his  guilt. 

"  Because  you're  guilty  of  course,"  she  continued. 
"  I  wonder  what  your  sentence  is  to  be?  " 

"  I'll  leave  it  to  you,"  he  suggested  lazily. 

"  Suppose  I  sentenced  you  to  slay  no  more  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'd  appeal " 

"  No  use ;   I  am  the  tribunal  of  last  resort." 

"  Then  I  throw  myself  upon  the  mercy  of  the  court." 

"  You  do  well,  Mr.  Siward.  This  court  is  very  merci 
ful.  .  .  .  How  much  do  you  care  for  bird  murder? 
Very  much?  Is  there  anything  you  care  for  more? 
Yes?  And  could  this  court  grant  it  to  you  in  com 
pensation?  " 

He  said,  deliberately,  roused  by  the  level  challenge 
of  her  gaze :  "  The  court  is  incompetent  to  compensate 
the  prisoner  or  offer  any  compromise." 

"Why,  Mr.  Siward?" 

"  Because  the  court  herself  is  already  compromised 
in  her  future  engagements." 

"  But  what  has  my — engagement  to  do  with " 

"  You  offered  compensation  for  depriving  me  of  my 
shooting.  There  could  be  only  one  adequate  compen 
sation." 

"  And  that  ?  "  she  asked,  coolly  enough. 

"  Your  continual  companionship." 

"  But  you  have  it,  Mr.  Siward " 

"  I  have  it  for  a  day.  The  season  lasts  three  months 
you  know." 

"  And  you  and  I  are  to  play  a  continuous  vaudeville 
for  three  months  ?  Is  that  your  offer  ?  " 

"  Partly." 

"  Then  one  day  with  me  is  not  worth  those  many 
days  of  murder?  "  she  asked  in  pretended  astonishment. 

93 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 


"  Ask  yourself  why  those  many  days  would  be  doubly 
empty,"  he  said  so  seriously  that  the  pointless  game 
began  to  confuse  her. 

"  Then  " — she  turned  lightly  from  uncertain  ground 
— "  then  perhaps  we  had  better  be  about  that  matter  of 
the  cup  you  prize  so  highly.  Are  you  ready,  Mr.  Si- 
ward?  There  is  much  to  be  killed  yet — including  time, 
you  know." 

But  the  hinted  sweetness  of  the  challenge  had 
aroused  him,  and  he  made  no  motion  to  rise.  Nor  did 
she. 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  he  reflected,  "  just  exactly  what 
I  should  ask  of  you  if  you  insist  on  taking  away — " 
he  turned  and  looked  about  him  through  the  burnt 
gold  foliage,  " — if  you  took  away  all  this  out  of  my 
life." 

"  I  shall  not  take  it ;  because  I  have  nothing  in  ex 
change  to  offer  .  .  .  you  say,"  she  answered  impru 
dently. 

"  I  did  not  say  so,"  he  retorted. 

"  You  did — reminding  me  that  the  court  is  already 
engaged  for  a  continuous  performance." 

"  Was  it  necessary  to  remind  you?  "  he  asked  with 
deliberate  malice. 

She  flushed  up,  vexed,  silent,  then  looked  directly 
at  him  with  beautiful  hostile  eyes.  "  What  do  you  mean, 
Mr.  Siward?  Are  you  taking  our  harmless,  idle  badi 
nage  as  warrant  for  an  intimacy  unwarranted?  " 

"  Have  I  offended?  "  he  asked,  so  impassively  that 
a  flash  of  resentment  brought  her  to  her  feet,  angry 
and  self-possessed. 

"  How  far  have  we  to  go?  "  she  asked  quietly. 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  turned,  hailing  the  keeper,  re 
peating  the  question.  And  at  the  answer  they  both 

94 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


started  forward,  the  dog  ranging  ahead  through  a  dense 
growth  of  beech  and  chestnut,  over  a  high  brown  ridge, 
then  down,  always  down  along  a  leafy  ravine  to  the 
water's  edge — a  forest  pond  set  in  the  gorgeous  foliage 
of  ripening  maples. 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  Sylvia  impatiently,  "  how  we 
are  going  to  obey  instructions  and  go  straight  ahead. 
There  must  be  a  stupid  boat  somewhere !  " 

But  the  game-laden  keeper  shook  his  head,  pulled 
up  his  hip  boots,  and  pointed  out  a  line  of  alder  poles 
set  in  the  water  to  mark  a  crossing. 

"  Am  I  expected  to  wade?  "  asked  the  girl  anxiously. 

"  This  here,"  observed  the  keeper,  "  is  one  of  the 
most  sportin'  courses  on  the  estate.  Last  season  I  seen 
Miss  Page  go  through  it  like  a  scared  deer — the  young 
lady,  sir,  that  took  last  season's  cup  " — in  explanation 
to  Siward,  who  stood  doubtfully  at  the  water's  edge, 
looking  back  at  Sylvia. 

Raising  her  dismayed  eyes  she  encountered  his ;  there 
was  a  little  laugh  between  them.  She  stepped  daintily 
across  the  stones  to  the  water's  edge,  instinctively  gath 
ering  her  kilts  in  one  hand. 

"  Miles  and  I  could  chair  you  over,"  suggested 
Siward. 

"Is  that  fair— under  the  rules?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  Miss ;  as  long  as  you  go  straight,"  said 
the  keeper. 

So  they  laid  aside  the  guns  and  the  guide's  game- 
sack,  and  formed  a  chair  with  their  hands,  and,  bearing 
the  girl  between  them,  they  waded  out  along  the  driven 
alder  stakes,  knee-deep  in  brown  water. 

Before  them  herons  rose  into  heavy  flapping  flight, 
broad  wings  glittering  in  the  sun;  a  diver,  distantly 
afloat  among  the  lily  pads,  settled  under  the  water  to 

95 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

his  eyes  as  a  submarine  settles  till  the  conning-tower  is 
awash. 

Her  arm,  lightly  resting  around  his  neck,  tightened 
a  trifle  as  the  water  rose  to  his  thighs;  then  the  faint 
pressure  relaxed  as  they  thrashed  shoreward  through 
the  shallows,  ankle  deep  once  more,  and  landed  among 
the  dry  reeds  on  the  farther  bank. 

Miles,  the  keeper,  went  back  for  the  guns.  Siward 
stamped  about  in  the  sun,  shaking  the  drops  from  water 
proof  breeches  and  gaiters,  only  to  be  half  drenched 
again  when  Sagamore  shook  himself  vigorously. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Sylvia,  looking  sideways  at  Si- 
ward,  "  your  contempt  for  my  sporting  accomplishments 
has  not  decreased.  I'm  sorry ;  I  don't  like  to  walk  in  wet 
shoes  .  .  .  even  to  gain  your  approval." 

And,  as  the  keeper  came  splashing  across  the  shal 
lows  :  "  Miles,  you  may  carry  my  gun.  I  shall  not  need 
it  any  longer " 

The  upward  roar  of  a  bevey  of  grouse  drowned  her 
voice ;  poor  Sagamore,  pointing  madly  in  the  blackberry 
thicket  all  unperceived,  cast  a  dismayed  glance  aloft 
where  the  sunlit  air  quivered  under  the  winnowing  rush  of 
heavy  wings.  Siward  flung  up  his  gun,  heading  a  big 
quartering  bird ;  steadily  the  glittering  barrels  swept  in 
the  arc  of  fire,  hesitated,  wavered;  then  the  possibility 
passed ;  the  young  fellow  lowered  the  gun,  slowly, 
gravely ;  stood  a  moment  motionless  with  bent  head  until 
the  rising  colour  in  his  face  had  faded. 

And  that  was  all,  for  a  while.  The  astonished  and 
disgusted  keeper  stared  into  the  thicket;  the  dog  lay 
quivering,  impatient  for  signal.  Sylvia's  heart,  which 
had  seemed  to  stop  with  her  voice,  silenced  in  the  gusty 
thunder  of  heavy  wings,  began  beating  too  fast.  For 
the  ringing  crack  of  a  gun  shot  could  have  spoken  no 

96 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


louder  to  her  than  the  glittering  silence  of  the  suspended 
barrels;  nor  any  promise  of  his  voice  sound  as  the 
startled  stillness  sounded  now  about  her.  For  he  had 
made  something  a  trifle  more  than  mere  amends  for 
his  rudeness.  He  was  overdoing  everything — a  little. 

He  stood  on  the  thicket's  edge,  absently  unloading 
the  weapon,  scarcely  understanding  what  he  had  done 
and  what  he  had  not  done. 

A  moment  later  a  far  hail  sounded  across  the  up 
lands,  and  against  the  sky  figures  moved  distantly. 

"  Alderdene  and  Marion  Page,"  said  Siward.  "  I 
believe  we  lunch  yonder,  do  we  not,  Miles?  ". 

They  climbed  the  hill  in  silence,  arriving  after  a  few 
minutes  to  find  others  already  at  luncheon — the  Page 
boys,  eager,  enthusiastic,  recounting  adventure  by  flood 
and  field;  Rena  Bonnesdel  tired  and  frankly  bored  and 
decorated  with  more  than  her  share  of  mud ;  Eileen  Shan 
non,  very  pretty,  very  effective,  having  done  more  exe 
cution  with  her  eyes  than  with  the  dainty  fowling-piece 
beside  her. 

Marion  Page  nodded  to  Sylvia  and  Siward  with  a 
crisp,  business-like  question  or  two,  then  went  over  to  in 
spect  their  bag,  nodding  approbation  as  Miles  laid  the 
game  on  the  grass. 

"  Eight  full  brace,"  she  commented.  "  We  have 
five,  and  an  odd  cock-pheasant — from  Black  Fells,  I 
suppose.  The  people  to  our  left  have  been  blazing  away 
like  Coney  Island,  but  Rena's  guide  says  the  ferns  are 
full  of  rabbits  that  way,  and  Major  Belwether  can't  hit 
fur  afoot.  You,"  she  added  frankly  to  Siward,  "  ought 
to  take  the  cup.  The  birches  ahead  of  you  are  full  of 
woodcock.  If  you  don't,  Howard  Quarrier  will.  He's 
into  a  flight  of  jack-snipe  I  hear." 

Siward's  eyes  had  suddenly  narrowed;  then  he 
97 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

laughed,  patting  Sagamore's  cheeks.  "  I  don't  believe 
I  shall  shoot  very  steadily  this  afternoon,"  he  said, 
turning  toward  the  group  at  luncheon  under  the  trees. 
"  I  wish  Quarrier  well — with  the  cup." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Marion  Page  curtly ;  "  you  are 
the  cleanest  shot  I  ever  knew."  And  she  raised  her  glass 
to  him,  frankly,  and  emptied  it  with  the  precision  char 
acteristic  of  her :  "  Your  cup  !  With  all  my  heart !  " 

"  I  also  drink  to  your  success,  Mr.  Siward,"  said 
Sylvia  in  a  low  voice,  lifting  her  champagne  glass  in  the 
sunlight.  "  To  the  Shotover  Cup — if  you  wish  it." 
And  as  other  glasses  sparkled  aloft  amid  a  gay  tumult 
of  voices  wishing  him  success,  Sylvia  dropped  her  voice, 
attuning  it  to  his  ear  alone :  "  Success  for  the  cup,  if 
you  wish  it — or,  whatever  you  wish — success !  "  and  she 
meant  it  very  kindly. 

His  hand  resting  on  his  glass  he  sat,  smiling  silent 
acknowledgment  to  the  noisy  generous  toasts ;  he  turned 
and  looked  at  Sylvia  when  her  low  voice  caught  his  ear — 
looked  at  her  very  steadily,  unsmiling. 

Then  to  the  others,  brightening  again,  he  said  a 
word  or  two,  wittily,  with  a  gay  compliment  well  placed 
and  a  phrase  to  end  it  in  good  taste.  And,  in  the  little 
gust  of  hand-clapping  and  laughter,  he  turned  again  to 
Sylvia,  smilingly,  saying  under  his  breath :  "  As  though 
winning  the  cup  could  compensate  me  now  for  los 
ing  it!" 

She  leaned  involuntarily  nearer:  "  You  mean  that 
you  will  not  try  for  it?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  That  is  not  fair— to  me !  " 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because — because  I  do  not  ask  it  of  you." 

"  You  need  not,  now  that  I  know  your  wish." 
98 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


Mr.  Siward,  I — mv  wish- 


But  she  had  no  chance  to  finish ;  already  Rena  Bon- 
nesdel  was  looking  at  them,  and  there  was  a  hint  of 
amused  surprise  in  Eileen  Shannon's  mischievous  eyes, 
averted  instantly,  writh  malicious  ostentation. 

Then  Marion  Page  took  possession  of  him  so  exclu 
sively,  so  calmly,  that  something  in  her  cool  certainty 
vaguely  irritated  Sylvia,  who  had  never  liked  her.  Be 
sides,  the  girl  showed  too  plainly  her  indifference  to  other 
people ;  which  other  people  seldom  find  amusing. 

"  Stephen,"  called  out  Alderdene,  anxiously  counting 
the  web  loops  in  his  khaki  vest,  "  what  do  you  call 
fair  shooting  at  these  damnable  ruffed  grouse?  You 
needn't  be  civil  about  it,  you  know." 

"  Five  shells  to  a  bird  is  good  shooting,"  answered 
Siward.  "  Don't  you  think  so,  Miss  Page?  " 

"  You  have  a  better  score,  Mr.  Siward,"  said  Marion 
Page  with  a  hostile  glance  at  Alderdene,  who  had  not 
made  good. 

"  That  was  chance — and  this  year's  birds.  I've 
taken  ten  shells  to  an  old  drummer  in  hard  wood  or  short 
pines."  He  smiled  to  himself,  adding :  "  A  drove  of  six 
in  the  open  got  off  scot  free  a  little  while  ago.  Miss 
Landis  saw  it." 

That  he  was  inclined  to  turn  it  all  to  banter  relieved 
her  at  once.  "  It  was  pitiable,"  she  nodded  gravely 
to  Marion ;  "his  nerve  left  him  when  they  made  such  a 
din  in  the  briers." 

Miss  Page  glanced  at  her  indifferently. 

"  What  I  need  is  practice  like  the  chasseurs  of 
Tarascon,"  admitted  Siward. 

"  I  willingly  offer  my  hat,  monsieur,"  said  Sylvia. 

Marion  Page,  impatient  to  start,  had  turned  her 
tailor-made  back  to  the  company,  and  was  instructing 

99 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

his  crestfallen  lordship  very  plainly :  "  You  fire  too 
quickly,  Blinky;  two  seconds  is  what  you  must  count 
when  a  grouse  flushes.  You  must  say  '  Mark  !  Right ! ' 
or 'Mark!  Left!  Bang!'" 

"  I  might  as  well  say  '  Bang ! '  for  all  I've  done 
to-day,"  he  muttered,  adjusting  his  shooting-goggles 
and  snapping  his  eyes  like  fury.  Then  exploding  into 
raucous  laughter  he  moved  off  southward  with  Marion 
Page,  who  had  exchanged  a  swift  handshake  with  Si- 
ward;  the  twins  followed,  convoying  Eileen  and  Rena, 
neither  maiden  excitedly  enthusiastic.  And  so  the  lunch 
eon  party,  lord  and  lady,  twins  and  maidens,  guides 
and  dogs,  trailed  away  across  the  ridge,  distant  sil 
houettes  presently  against  the  sky,  then  gone.  And 
after  a  little  while  the  far,  dry,  accentless  report  of 
smokeless  powder  announced  that  the  opening  of  the  sea 
son  had  been  resumed  and  the  Lesser  Children  were  dying 
fast  in  the  glory  of  a  perfect  day. 

"  Are  you  ready,  Mr.  Siward?  "  She  stood  waiting 
for  him  at  the  edge  of  the  thicket;  Miles  resumed  his 
game  sack  and  her  fowling-piece;  the  dog  came  up, 
looking  him  anxiously  in  the  eyes. 

So  he  walked  forward  beside  her  into  the  dappled 
light  of  the  thicket. 

Within  a  few  minutes  the  dog  stood  twice ;  and  twice 
the  whirring  twitter  of  woodcock  startled  her,  echoed  by 
the  futile  crack  of  his  gun. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir " 

"  Yes,  Miles,"  with  a  glint  of  humour. 

"  Overshot,  sir, — excusin'  the  liberty,  Mr.  Siward. 
Both  marked  down  forty  yard  to  the  left  if  you  wish 
to  start  'em  again." 

"  No,"  he  said  indifferently,  "  I  had  my  chance  at 
them.  They're  exempt." 

100 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


Then  Sagamore,  tail  wildly  whipjrinjg',  'came  smack 
on  the  trail  of  an  old  stager  of  a  cock-grouse — off,'  on 
over  rock,  log,  wet  gully,  ano1  dity  '  ridge,  tw^cing, 
doubling,  circling,  every  wile,  every  trick  employed  and 
met,  until  the  dog  crawling  noiselessly  forward,  trembled 
and  froze,  and  Siward,  far  to  left,  wheeled  at  the  muf 
fled  and  almost  noiseless  rise.  For  an  instant  the  slant 
ing  barrels  wavered,  grew  motionless;  but  only  a  stray 
sunbeam  glinting  struck  a  flash  of  cold  fire  from  the 
muzzle,  only  the  feathery  whirring  whisper  broke  the 
silence  of  suspense.  Then  far  away  over  sunny  tree 
tops  a  big  grouse  sailed  up,  rocketing  into  the  sky  on 
slanted  wings,  breasting  the  height  of  green;  dipped, 
glided  downward  with  bowed  wings  stiffened,  and  was  en 
gulfed  in  the  misty  barriers  of  purpling  woods. 

"  Vale!  "  said  Siward  aloud,  "  I  salute  you !  " 

He  came  strolling  back  across  the  crisp  leaves,  the 
dappled  sunshine  playing  over  his  face  like  the  flicker  of 
a  smile. 

"  Miles,"  he  said,  "  my  nerve  is  gone.  Such  things 
happen.  I'm  all  in.  Come  over  here,  my  friend,  and 
look  at  the  sun  with  me." 

The  discomfited  keeper  obeyed. 

"  Where  ought  that  refulgent  luminary  to  scintilate 
when  I  face  Osprey  Ledge  ?  " 

"Sir?" 

"  The  sun.     How  do  I  hold  it?  " 

"  On  the  p'int  of  your  right  shoulder,  sir.  .  .  .  You 
ain't  quittin',  Mr.  Siward,  sir !  "  anxiously ;  "  that  Shot- 
over  Cup  is  easy  yours,  sir !  "  eagerly ;  "  Wot's  a  miss 
on  a  old  drummer,  Mr.  Siward?  Wot's  twice  over- 
shootin'  cock,  sir,  when  a  blind  dropper  can  see  you  are 
the  cleanest,  fastest,  hard-shootin'  shot  in  the  hull 
county ! " 

101 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

But  Siwam  .-shook  his  head  with  an  absent  glance 
at  tKe  dog,  and  motioned  the  astonished  keeper  forward. 

/•  Liir^e  the  easiest  frail  for  us,"  he  said ;  "  I  think 
we'  are  already  a  trifle  tired.  Twigs  will  do  in  short 
cover;  use  a  hatchet  in  the  big  timber.  .  .  .  And  go 
slow  till  we  join  you." 

And  when  the  unwilling  and  perplexed  keeper  had 
started,  Siward,  unlocking  his  gun,  drew  out  the  smooth 
yellow  cartridges  and  pocketed  them. 

Sylvia  looked  up  as  the  sharp  metallic  click  of  the 
locked  breech  rang  out  in  the  silence. 

"  Why  do  you  do  this,  Mr.  Siward?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  really  I  am  honest ;  I  don't  know." 

"  It  could  not  be  because  I " 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  he  said,  too  seriously  to  re 
assure  her. 

"  Mr.  Siward,"  in  quick  displeasure. 

"Yes?" 

"  What  you  do  for  your  amusements  cannot  con 
cern  me." 

"  Right  as  usual,"  he  said  so  gaily  that  a  reluctant 
smile  trembled  on  her  lips. 

"  Then  why  have  you  done  this?  It  is  unreasonable 
— if  you  don't  feel  as  I  do  about  killing  things  that  are 
having  a  good  time  in  the  world." 

He  stood  silent,  absently  looking  at  the  fowling- 
piece  cradled  in  his  left  arm.  "  Shall  we  sit  here  a  mo 
ment  and  talk  it  over?  "  he  suggested  listlessly. 

Her  blue  gaze  swept  him ;  his  vague  smile  was  indif 
ferently  bland. 

"  If  you  are  determined  not  to  shoot,  we  might  as 
well  start  for  Osprey  Ledge,"  she  suggested ;  "  other 
wise,  what  reason  is  there  for  our  being  here  together, 
Mr.  Siward?" 

102 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


Awaiting  his  comment — perhaps  expecting  a  counter- 
proposition — she  leaned  against  the  tree  beside  which  he 
stood.  And  after  a  while,  as  his  absent-minded  preoc 
cupation  continued: 

"  Do  you  think  the  leaves  are  dry  enough  to  sit  on  ?  " 

He  slipped  off  his  shooting-coat  and  placed  it  at  the 
base  of  the  tree.  She  waited  for  a  second,  uncertain  how 
to  meet  an  attitude  which  seemed  to  take  for  granted 
matters  which  might,  if  discussed,  give  her  at  least  the 
privilege  of  yielding.  However,  to  discuss  a  triviality 
meant  forcing  emphasis  where  none  was  necessary.  She 
seated  herself ;  and,  as  he  continued  to  remain  standing, 
she  stripped  off  her  shooting-gloves  and  glanced  up  at 
him  inquiringly :  "  Well,  Mr.  Siward,  I  am  literally  at 
your  feet." 

"  Which  redresses  the  balance  a  little,"  he  said,  find 
ing  a  place  near  her. 

"  That  is  very  nice  of  you.  Can  I  always  count  on 
you  for  civil  platitudes  when  I  stir  you  out  of  your  day 
dreams?  " 

"  You  can  always  count  on  stirring  me  without  ef 
fort." 

"  No,  I  can't.  Nobody  can.  You  are  never  to  be 
counted  on ;  you  are  too  absent-minded.  Like  a  veil 
you  wrap  yourself  in  a  brown  study,  leaving  everybody 
outside  to  consider  the  pointed  flattery  of  your  with 
drawal.  What  happens  to  you  when  you  are  inside 
that  magic  veil?  Do  you  change  into  anything  inter 
esting?  " 

He  sat  there,  chin  propped  on  his  linked  fingers, 
elbows  on  knees ;  and,  though  there  was  always  the  hint 
of  a  smile  in  his  pleasant  eyes,  always  the  indefinable 
charm  of  breeding  in  voice  and  attitude,  something  now 
was  lacking.  And  after  a  moment  she  concluded  that 
8  103 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

it  was  his  attention.  Certainly  his  wits  were  wool-gath 
ering  again ;  his  eyes,  edged  with  the  shadow  of  a  smile, 
saw  far  beyond  her,  far  beyond  the  sunlit  shadows  where 
they  sat. 

In  his  preoccupation  she  had  found  him  nega 
tively  attractive.  She  glanced  at  him  now  from  time  to 
time,  her  eyes  returning  always  to  the  beauty  of  the 
subdued  light  where  all  about  them  silver-stemmed 
birches  clustered  like  slim  shining  pillars,  crowned  with 
their  autumn  canopy  of  crumpled  gold. 

"  Enchantment ! "  she  said  under  her  breath. 
"  Surely  an  enchanted  sleeper  lies  here  somewhere." 

"  You,"  he  observed,  "  unawakened." 

"Asleep?  I?"  She  looked  around  at  him.  "  You 
are  the  dreamer  here.  Your  eyes  are  full  of  dreaming 
even  now.  What  is  your  desire  ?  " 

He  leaned  on  one  arm,  watching  her;  she  had 
dropped  her  ungloved  hand,  searching  among  the  newly 
fallen  gold  of  the  birch  leaves  drifted  into  heaps.  On 
the  third  finger  a  jewel  glittered;  he  saw  it,  conscious 
of  its  meaning — but  his  eyes  followed  the  hand  idly 
heaping  up  autumn  gold,  a  white  slim  hand,  smoothly 
fascinating.  Then  the  little,  restless  hand  swept  near 
to  his,  almost  touching  it ;  and  then  instinctively  he  took 
it  in  his  own,  curiously,  lifting  it  a  little  to  consider  its 
nearer  loveliness.  Perhaps  it  was  the  unexpectedness  of 
it,  perhaps  it  was  sheer  amazement  that  left  her  hand 
lying  idly  relaxed  like  a  white  petalled  blossom  in  his. 
His  bearing,  too,  was  so  blankly  impersonal  that  for  a 
moment  the  whole  thing  appeared  inconsequent.  Then, 
as  her  hand  lay  there,  scarcely  imprisoned,  their  eyes 
encountered, — and  hers,  intensely  blue  now,  considered 
him  without  emotion,  studied  him  impersonally  without 
purpose,  incuriously  acquiescent,  indifferently  expectant. 

104 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


After  a  little  while  the  consciousness  of  the  contact 
disconcerted  her ;  she  withdrew  her  fingers  with  an  invol 
untary  shiver. 

"  Is  there  no  chance  ?  "  he  asked. 

Perplexed  with  her  own  emotion,  the  meaning  of  hia 
low-voiced  question  at  first  escaped  her ;  then,  like  its  own 
echo,  came  ringing  back  in  her  ears,  re-echoed  again  as  he 
repeated  it: 

"  Is  there  no  chance  for  me,  Miss  Landis?  " 

The  very  revulsion  of  self-possession  returning 
chilled  her ;  then  anger  came,  quick  and  hot ;  then  pride. 
She  deliberated,  choosing  her  words  coolly  enough: 
"  What  chance  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Siward?  " 

"  A  fighting  chance.     Can  you  give  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  A  fighting  chance?  For  what?  " — very  low,  very 
dangerous. 

"  For  you." 

Then,  in  spite  of  her,  her  senses  became  unsteady; 
a  sudden  ringing  confusion  seemed  to  deafen  her,  through 
which  his  voice,  as  if  very  far  away,  sounded  again: 

"  Men  who  are  worth  a  fighting  chance  ask  for  it 
sometimes — but  take  it  always.  I  take  it." 

Her  pallor  faded  under  the  flood  of  bright  colour; 
the  blue  of  her  eyes  darkened  ominously  to  velvet. 

"  Mr.  Siward,"  she  said,  very  distinctly  and  slowly, 
"  I  am  not — even — sorry — for  you." 

"  Then  my  chance  is  desperate  indeed,"  he  retorted 
coolly. 

"  Chance !  Do  you  imagine — "  Her  anger  choked 
her. 

"Are  you  not  a  little  hard?"  he  said,  paling 
under  his  tan.  "  I  supposed  women  dismissed  men  more 
gently — even  such  a  man  as  I  am." 

For  a  full  minute  she  strove  to,  Comprehend. 
105 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  Such  a  man  as  you !  "  she  repeated  vaguely ;  "  you 
mean — "  a  crimson  wave  dyed  her  skin  to  the  temples  and 
she  leaned  toward  him  in  horror-stricken  contrition; 
"  I  didn't  mean  that,  Mr.  Siward !  I — I  never  thought 
of  that !  It  had  no  weight,  it  was  not  in  my  thoughts. 
I  meant  only  that  you  had  assumed  what  is  unwarranted 
— that  you — your  question  humiliated  me,  knowing  that 
I  am  engaged — knowing  me  so  little — so " 

"  Yes,  I  knew  everything.  Ask  yourself  why  I  risk 
everything  to  say  this  to  you?  There  can  be  only  one 
answer." 

Then  after  a  long  silence :  "  Have  I  ever — "  she  be 
gan  tremblingly — "  ever  by  word  or  look " 

"  No." 

"  Have  I  even " 

"  No.  I've  simply  discovered  how  I  feel.  That's 
what  I  was  dreaming  about  when  you  asked  me.  I 
was  afraid  I  might  do  this  too  soon ;  but  I  meant  to  do 
it  anyway  before  it  became  too  late." 

"  It  was  too  late  from  the  very  moment  we  met,  Mr. 
Siward."  And,  as  he  reddened  painfully  again,  she 
added  quickly :  "  I  mean  that  I  had  already  decided. 
Why  will  you  take  what  I  say  so  dreadfully  different 
from  the  way  I  intend  it  ?  Listen  to  me.  I — I  believe  I 
am  not  very  experienced  yet;  I  was  a — astonished — 
quite  stunned  for  a  moment.  Then  it  hurt  me — and  I 
said  that  I  was  not  sorry  for  you  ...  I  am  sorry, 
now." 

And,  as  he  said  nothing :  "  You  were  a  little  rough, 
a  little  sudden  with  me,  Mr.  Siward.  Men  have  asked 
me  that  question — several  times ;  but  never  so  soon,  so 
unreasonably  soon — never  without  some  preliminary 
of  some  sort,  so  that  I  could  foresee,  be  more  or  less 
prepared.  .  .  .  But  you  gave  me  no  warning.  I — if 

106 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


you  had,  I  would  have  known  how  to  be  gentle.  I — I 
wish  to  be  now.  I  like  you — enough  to  say  this  to  you, 
enough  to  be  seriously  sorry;  if  I  could  bring  myself 
to  really  believe  this — feeling " 

Still  he  said  nothing;  he  sat  there  listlessly  study 
ing  the  sun  spots  glowing,  waxing,  waning  on  the  carpet 
of  dead  leaves  at  his  feet. 

"  As  for — what  you  have  said,"  she  added,  a  little 
smile  curving  the  sensitive  mouth,  "  it  is  impulsive,  un- 
considered,  a  trifle  boyish,  Mr.  Siward.  I  pay  myself 
the  compliment  of  your  sincerity ;  it  is  rather  nice  to  be 
a  girl  who  can  awaken  the  romance  in  a  man  within  a 
day  or  two's  acquaintance.  .  .  .  And  that  is  all  it  is — 
a  romantic  impulse  with  a  pretty  girl.  You  see  I  am 
frank ;  I  am  really  glad  that  you  find  me  attractive. 
Tell  me  so,  if  you  wish.  We  shall  not  misunderstand 
each  other  again.  Shall  we?  " 

He  raised  his  head,  considering  her,  forcing  the  smile 
to  meet  her  own. 

"  We  shall  be  better  friends  than  ever,"  she  asserted 
confidently. 

"  Yes,  better  than  ever." 

"  Because  what  you  have  done  means  the  nicest 
sort  of  friendship,  you  see.  You  can't  escape  its  duties 
and  responsibilities  now,  Mr.  Siward.  I  shall  expect 
you  to  spend  the  greater  part  of  your  life  in  devotedly 
doing  things  for  me.  Besides,  I  am  now  privileged  to 
worry  you  with  advice.  Oh,  you  have  invested  me  with 
all  sorts  of  powers  now !  " 

He  nodded. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  flushed,  smiling,  a  trifle 
excited. 

"  Is  it  all  over,  and  are  we  the  very  ideals  of 
friends?  "  she  asked. 

107 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  The  very  ideals." 

"  You  are  nice !  "  she  said  impulsively,  holding  out 
both  gloveless  hands.  He  held  them,  she  looking  at 
him  very  sweetly,  very  confidently. 

"  Allons!     Without  malice?  "  she  asked. 

"  Without  malice." 

"  Without  afterthoughts?  " 

"  Without  afterthoughts." 

"  And — you  are  content  ?  "  persuasively. 

"  Of  course  not,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  but  you  must  be." 

"  I  must  be,"  he  repeated  obediently. 

"  And  you  are !     Say  it !  " 

"  But  it  does  not  make  me  unhappy  not  to  be  con 
tented " 

"  Say  it,  please ;  or — do  you  desire  me  to  be  un 
happy  ?  " 

Her  small,  smooth  hands  lying  between  his,  they  stood 
confronting  one  another  in  the  golden  light.  She  might 
easily  have  brought  the  matter  to  an  end ;  and  why  she 
did  not,  she  knew  no  more  than  a  kitten  waking  to  con 
sciousness  under  its  first  caress. 

"  Say  it,"  she  repeated,  laughing  uncertainly  back 
into  his  smiling  eyes  of  a  boy. 

"  Say  what?  " 

"  That  you  are  contented." 

"  I  can't." 

"  Mr.  Siward,  it  is  unkind,  it  is  shameless " 

"  I  know  it ;  I  am  that  sort." 

"  Then  I  am  sorry  for  you.  Look  at  that !  "  turn 
ing  her  left  hand  in  his  so  that  the  jewel  on  the  third 
finger  caught  the  light. 

"  I  see  it." 

"  And  yet—" 

108 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


"  And  yet." 

"  That,"  she  observed  with  composure,  "  is  sheer  ob 
stinacy.  .  .  .  Isn't  it?" 

"  It  is  what  I  said  it*was:  a  hopeful  discontent." 

"How  can  it  be?"  impatiently  now,  for  the  long, 
unaccustomed  contact  was  unnerving  her — yet  she  made 
no  motion  to  withdraw  her  hands.  "  How  can  you  really 
care  for  me?  Do  you  actually  believe  that — devotion — 
comes  like  that?  " 

"  Exactly  like  that." 

"  So  suddenly  ?  It  is  impossible !  "  with  a  twist  of 
her  pretty  shoulders. 

"  How  did  it  come — to  you  ?  "  he  asked  between  his 
teeth. 

Then  her  face  grew  scarlet  and  her  eyes  grew  dark, 
and  her  hands  contracted  in  his — tightened,  twisted  fin 
gers  entangled,  until,  with  a  little  sob,  she  swayed  tow 
ard  him  and  he  caught  her.  An  instant,  a  minute — 
more,  perhaps,  she  did  not  know — she  half  lay  in  his 
arms,  her  untaught  lips  cold  against  his.  Lassitude, 
faint  consciousness,  then  tiny  shock  on  shock  came  the 
burning  revulsion ;  and  her  voice  came  back,  too,  sound 
ing  strangely  to  her,  a  colourless,  monotonous  voice. 

He  had  freed  her;  she  remembered  that  somebody 
had  asked  him  to — perhaps  herself.  That  was  well; 
she  needed  to  breathe,  to  summon  strength  and  common- 
sense,  find  out  what  had  been  done,  what  reasonless 
madness  she  had  committed  in  the  half-light  of  the  silver- 
stemmed  trees  clustering  in  shameful  witness  on  every 
hand. 

Suddenly  the  hot  humiliation  of  it  overwhelmed  her, 
and  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  standing,  almost 
swaying,  as  wave  on  wave  of  incredulous  shame  seemed 
to  sweep  her  from  knee  to  brow.  That  phase  passed 

109 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

after  a  while ;  out  of  it  she  emerged,  flushed,  outwardly 
composed,  into  another  phase,  in  full  self-possession  once 
more,  able  to  understand  what  had  happened  without 
the  disproportion  of  emotional  exaggeration.  After  all, 
she  had  only  been  kissed.  Besides  she  was  a  novice, 
which  probably  accounted,  in  a  measure,  for  the  unrea 
sonable  emotion  coincident  with  a  caress  to  which  she  was 
unaccustomed.  Without  looking  up  at  him  she  found 
herself  saying  coolly  enough  to  surprise  herself:  "  I 
never  supposed  I  was  capable  of  that.  It  appears  that  I 
am.  I  haven't  anything  to  say  for  myself  .  .  .  except 
that  I  feel  fearfully  humiliated.  .  .  .  Don't  say  any 
thing  now  ...  I  do  not  blame  you,  truly  I  do  not. 
It  was  contemptible  of  me — to  do  it — wearing  this — " 
she  stretched  out  her  slender  left  hand,  not  looking  at 
him ;  "  it  was  contemptible !  "  .  .  .  She  slowly  raised 
her  eyes,  summoning  all  her  courage  to  face  him. 

But  he  only  saw  in  the  pink  confusion  of  her  lovely 
face  the  dawning  challenge  of  a  coquette  saluting  her 
adversary  in  gay  acknowledgment  of  his  fleeting  moment 
of  success.  And  as  his  face  fell,  then  hardened  into 
brightness,  instantly  she  divined  how  he  rated  her,  and 
in  a  flash  realized  her  weapons  and  her  security,  and 
that  the  control  of  the  situation  was  hers,  not  in  the 
control  of  this  irresolute  young  man  who  stood  so  silently 
considering  her.  Strange  that  she  should  be  ashamed 
of  her  own  innocence,  willing  that  he  believe  her  accom 
plished  in  such  arts,  enchanted  that  he  no  longer  per 
haps  suspected  genuine  emotion  in  the  swift,  confused 
sweetness  of  her  first  kiss.  If  only  all  that  were  truly 
hidden  from  him,  if  he  dare  not  in  his  heart  convict  her 
of  anything  save  perfection  in  a  gay,  imprudent  role, 
what  a  weight  lifted,  what  relief,  what  hot  self-contempt 
cooled !  What  vengeance,  too,  she  would  take  on  him 

110 


THE   SEASON   OPENS 


for  the  agony  of  her  awakening — the  dazed  chagrin, 
the  dread  of  his  wise,  amused  eyes — eyes  that  she 
feared  had  often  looked  upon  such  scenes ;  eyes  no  doubt 
familiar  with  such  unimportant  details  as  the  shamed  de 
meanour  of  a  novice. 

"  Why  do  you  take  it  so  seriously  ?  "  she  said,  laugh 
ing  and  studying  him,  certain  now  of  herself  in  this 
new  disguise. 

"Do  you  take  it  lightly?"  he  asked,  striving  to 
smile. 

"  I?  Ah,  I  must,  you  know.  You  don't  expect  to 
marry  me  ...  do  you,  Mr.  Siward?" 

"  I —     He  choked  up  at  that,  grimly  for  a  while. 

Walking  slowly  forward  together  she  fell  into  step 
frankly  beside  him,  near  him — too  near.  "  Try  to  be 
sensible,"  she  was  saying  gaily ;  "  I  like  you  so  much — 
and  it  would  be  horrid  to  have  you  mope,  you  know. 
And  besides,  even  if  I  cared  for  you,  there  are  rea 
sons,  you  know — reasons  for  any  girl  to  marry  the  man 
I  am  going  to  marry.  Does  my  cynicism  shock  you? 
What  am  I  to  do?  "  with  a  shrug.  "  Such  marriages 
are  reasonable,  and  far  likelier  to  be  agreeable  than 
when  fancy  is  the  sole  motive — certainly  far  more 
agreeable  than  an  ill-considered  yielding  to  abstract 
emotion  with  nothing  concrete  in  view.  .  .  .  So,  you 
see,  I  could  not  marry  you  even  if  I — "  her  voice  was 
inclined  to  tremble,  but  she  controlled  it.  Would  she 
never  learn  her  role?  "  even  if  I  loved  you " 

Then  her  tongue  stumbled  and  was  silent;  and  they 
walked  on,  side  by  side,  through  the  fading  splendour 
of  the  year,  exchanging  no  further  speech. 

Toward  sunset  their  guide  hailed  them,  standing  high 
among  the  rocks,  a  silhouette  against  the  sky.  And 
beyond  him  they  saw  the  poles  crowned  with  the  huge 

111 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

nests  of  the  fish-hawks,  marking  the  last  rendezvous  at 
Osprey  Ledge. 

She  turned  to  him  as  they  started  up  the  last  incline, 
thanking  him  in  a  sweet,  natural  voice  for  his  care  of 
her — quite  innocently — until  in  the  questioning,  uncon 
vinced  gaze  that  met  hers  she  found  her  own  eyes  soft 
ening  and  growing  dim ;  and  she  looked  away  suddenly, 
lest  he  read  her  ere  she  had  dared  turn  the  first  page  in 
the  book  of  self — ere  she  had  studied,  pried,  probed 
among  the  pages  of  a  new  chapter  whose  familiar  title, 
so  long  meaningless  to  her,  had  taken  on  a  sudden  troub 
ling  significance.  And  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
glanced  uneasily  at  the  new  page  in  the  book  of  self, 
numbered  according  to  her  years  with  the  figures  23, 
and  headed  with  the  unconvincing  chapter  title,  "  Love." 


112 


CHAPTER    V 

A   WINNING   LOSER 

THE  week  passed  swiftly,  day  after  day  echoing 
with  the  steady  fusilade  from  marsh  to  covert,  from 
valley  to  ridge.  Guns  flashed  at  dawn  and  dusk  along 
the  flat  tidal  reaches  haunted  of  black  mallard  and  teal ; 
the  smokeless  powder  cracked  through  alder  swamp  and 
tangled  windfall  where  the  brown  grouse  burst  away  into 
noisy  blundering  flight ;  where  the  woodcock,  wilder  now, 
shrilled  skyward  like  feathered  rockets,  and  the  big 
northern  hares,  not  yet  flecked  with  snowy  patches  of 
fur,  loped  off  into  swamps  to  the  sad  undoing  of  several 
of  the  younger  setters. 

There  was  a  pheasant  drive  at  Black  Fells  to  which 
the  Fer rails'  guests  were  bidden  by  Beverly  Plank — a 
curious  scene,  where  ladies  and  gentlemen  stood  on  a 
lawn,  backed  by  an  army  of  loaders  and  gun-bearers, 
while  another  improvised  army  of  beaters  drove  some 
thousands  of  frightened,  bewildered,  homeless  foreign 
pheasants  at  the  guns.  And  the  miserable  aliens  that 
escaped  the  guns  were  left  to  perish  in  the  desolation 
of  a  coming  winter  which  they  were  unfitted  to  with 
stand. 

So  the  first  week  of  the  season  sped  gaily,  ending 
on  Saturday  with  a  heavy  flight  of  northern  woodcock 
and  an  uproarious  fusilade  among  the  silver  birches. 

Once  Ferrall  loaded  two  motor  cars  with  pioneers 
for  a  day  beyond  his  own  boundaries ;  and  one  day  was 
spent  ingloriously  with  the  beagles ;  but  otherwise  the 

113 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 


Shotover  estate  proved  more  than  sufficient  for  good 
bags  or  target  practice,  as  the  skill  of  the  sportsmen 
developed. 

Lord  Alderdene,  good  enough  on  snipe  and  cock,  was 
driven  almost  frantic  by  the  ruffed  grouse ;  Voucher  did 
better  for  a  day  or  two,  and  then  lost  the  knack ;  Marion 
Page  attended  to  business  in  her  cool  and  thorough  style, 
and  her  average  on  the  gun-room  books  was  excellent, 
and  was  also  adorned  with  clever  pen-and-ink  sketches 
by  Siward. 

Leroy  Mortimer  had  given  up  shooting  and  estab 
lished  himself  as  a  haunter  of  cushions  in  sunny  corners. 
Tom  O'Hara  had  gone  back  to  Lenox;  Mrs.  Vanden- 
ning  to  Hot  Springs.  Beverly  Plank,  master  of  Black 
Fells,  began  to  pervade  the  house  after  a  tentative  ap 
pearance;  and  he  and  Major  Belwether  pottered  about 
the  coverts,  usually  after  luncheon — the  latter  doing 
little  damage  with  his  fowling-piece,  and  nobody  knew 
how  much  with  his  gossiping  tongue.  Quarrier  ap 
peared  in  the  field  methodically,  shot  with  judgment, 
taking  no  chances  for  a  brilliant  performance  which 
might  endanger  his  respectable  average.  As  for  the 
Page  boys,  they  kept  the  river  ducks  stirring  whenever 
Eileen  Shannon  and  Rena  Bonnesdel  could  be  per 
suaded  to  share  the  canoes  with  them.  Otherwise  they 
haunted  the  vicinity  of  those  bored  maidens,  suffering 
snubs  sorrowfully,  but  persistently  faithful.  They  were 
a  great  nuisance  in  the  evening,  especially  as  their  sister 
did  not  permit  them  to  lose  more  than  ten  dollars  a  day 
at  cards. 

Cards — that  is  Bridge  and  Preference — ruled  as 
usual;  and  the  latter  game  being  faster  suited  Morti 
mer  and  Ferrall,  but  did  not  aid  Siward  toward  recoup 
ing  his  Bridge  losses. 


A    WINNING   LOSER 


Noticing  this,  late  in  the  week,  Major  Belwether 
kindly  suggested  Klondyke  for  Siward's  benefit,  which 
proved  more  quickly  disastrous  to  him  than  an}^thing 
yet  proposed;  and  he  went  back  to  Bridge,  preferring 
rather  to  "  carry  "  Agatha  Caithness  at  intervals  than 
crumble  into  bankruptcy  under  the  sheer  deadly  hazard 
of  Klondyke. 

Two  matters  occupied  him ;  since  "  cup  day  "  he 
had  never  had  another  opportunity  to  see  Sylvia  Lan- 
dis  alone ;  that  was  the  first  matter.  He  had  touched 
neither  wine  nor  spirits  nor  malt  since  the  night  Ferrall 
had  found  him  prone,  sprawling  in  a  stupor  on  his 
disordered  bed.  That  was  the  second  matter,  and  it 
occupied  him,  at  times  required  all  his  attention,  par 
ticularly  when  the  physical  desire  for  it  set  in,  steadily, 
mercilessly,  mounting  inexorably  like  a  tide.  .  .  .  But, 
like  the  tide,  it  ebbed  at  last,  particularly  when  a  sleep 
less  night  had  exhausted  him. 

He  had  gone  back  to  his  shooting  again  after  a 
cool  review  of  the  ethics  involved.  It  even  amused  him 
to  think  that  the  whimsical  sermon  delivered  him  by  a 
girl  who  had  cleverness  enough  to  marry  many  millions, 
with  Quarrier  thrown  in,  could  have  so  moved  him  to 
sentimentality.  He  had  ceded  the  big  cup  of  antique 
silver  to  Quarrier,  too — a  matter  which  troubled  him 
little,  however,  as  in  the  irritation  of  the  reaction  he  had 
been  shooting  with  the  brilliancy  of  a  demon ;  and  the 
gun-room  books  were  open  to  any  doubting  guests'  in 
spection. 

Time,  therefore,  was  never  heavy  on  his  hands,  save 
when  the  tide  threatened — when  at  night  he  stirred 
and  awoke,  conscious  of  its  crawling  advance,  aware  of 
its  steady  mounting  menace.  Moments  at  table,  when 
the  aroma  of  wine  made  him  catch  his  breath,  moments 

115 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

in  the  gun-room  redolent  of  spicy  spirits ;  a  maddening 
volatile  fragrance  clinging  to  the  card-room,  too !  Yes, 
the  long  days  were  filled  with  such  moments  for  him. 

But  afield  the  desire  faded;  and  even  during  the 
day,  indoors,  he  shrugged  desire  aside.  It  was  night 
that  he  dreaded — the  long  hours,  lying  there  tense,  stark- 
eyed,  sickened  with  desire. 

As  for  Sylvia,  she  and  Grace  Ferrall  had  taken  to 
motoring,  driving  away  into  the  interior  or  taking  long 
flights  north  and  south  along  the  coast.  Sometimes  they 
took  Quarrier,  sometimes,  when  Mrs.  Ferrall  drove,  they 
took  in  ballast  in  the  shape  of  a  superflous  Page  boy 
and  a  girl  for  him.  Once  Grace  Ferrall  asked  Siward 
to  join  them;  but  no  definite  time  being  set,  he  was 
scarcely  surprised  to  find  them  gone  when  he  returned 
from  a  morning  on  the  snipe  meadows.  And  Sylvia, 
leagues  away  by  that  time,  curled  up  in  the  tonneau 
beside  Grace  Ferrall,  watched  the  dark  pines  flying  past, 
cheeks  pink,  eyes  like  stars,  while  the  rushing  wind  drove 
health  into  her  and  care  out  of  her — cleansing,  puri 
fying,  overwhelming  winds  flowing  through  and  through 
her,  till  her  very  soul  within  her  seemed  shining  through 
the  beauty  of  her  eyes.  Besides,  she  had  just  confessed. 

"  He  kissed  you !  "  repeated  Grace  Ferrall  incredu 
lously. 

"  Yes — a  number  of  times.  He  was  silly  enough  to 
do  it,  and  I  let  him." 

"  Did— did  he  say " 

"  I  don't  know  what  he  said ;  I  was  all  nerves — con 
fused — scared — a  perfect  stick  in  fact !  .  .  .  I  don't  be 
lieve  he'd  care  to  try  again." 

Then  Mrs.  Ferrall  deliberately  settled  down  in  her 
furs  to  extract  from  the  girl  beside  her  every  essential 

116 


A    WINNING   LOSER 


detail;  and  the  girl,  frank  at  first,  grew  shy  and  silent 
— reticent  enough  to  worry  her  friend  into  a  silence 
which  lasted  a  long  while  for  a  cheerful  little  matron 
of  her  sort. 

Presently  they  spoke  of  other  matters — matters  in 
teresting  to  pretty  women  with  much  to  do  in  the  coming 
winter  between  New  York,  Hot  Springs,  and  Florida; 
surmises  as  to  dinners,  dances,  and  the  newcomers  in 
the  younger  sets,  and  the  marriages  to  be  arranged  or 
disarranged,  and  the  scandals  humanity  is  heir  to,  and 
the  attitude  of  the  bishop  toward  divorce. 

And  the  new  pavillion  to  be  built  for  Saint  Berold's 
Hospital,  and  the  various  states  of  the  various  charities 
each  was  interested  in,  and  the  chances  of  something 
new  at  the  opera,  and  the  impossibility  of  saving  Fifth 
Avenue  from  truck  traffic,  and  the  increasing  impor 
tance  of  Washington  as  a  social  centre,  and  the  bad 
manners  of  a  foreign  ambassador,  and  the  better  man 
ners  of  another  diplomat,  and  the  lack  of  discrimina 
tion  betrayed  by  our  ambassador  to  a  certain  great 
Power  in  choosing  people  for  presentation  at  court,  and 
the  latest  unhappy  British-American  marriage,  and  the 
hopelessness  of  the  French  as  decent  husbands,  and  the 
recent  accident  to  the  Claymores'  big  yacht,  and  the 
tendency  of  weU-born  young  men  toward  politics,  and 
the  anything  but  distinguished  person  of  Lord  Alder- 
dene,  which  was,  however,  vastly  superior  to  the  de 
meanour  and  person  of  others  of  his  rank  recently 
imported,  and  the  beauty  of  Miss  Caithness,  and  the 
chance  that  Captain  Voucher  had  if  Leila  Mortimer 
would  let  him  alone,  and  the  absurdity  of  the  Page 
twins,  and  the  furtive  coarseness  of  Leroy  Mortimer 
and  his  general  badness,  and  the  sadness  of  Leila  Mor 
timer's  lot  when  she  had  always  been  in  love  with  other 

117 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

people, — and  a  little  scandalous  surmise  concerning  Tom 
O'Hara,  and  the  new  house  on  Seventy-ninth  Street 
building  for  Mrs.  Vendenning,  and  that  charming 
widow's  success  at  last  year's  horse  show — and  whether 
the  fashion  of  the  function  was  reviving,  and  whether 
Beverly  Plank  had  completely  broken  into  the  social 
sets  he  had  besieged  so  long,  or  whether  a  few  of  the 
hunting  and  shooting  people  merely  permitted  him  to 
drive  pheasants  for  them,  and  why  Katharyn  Tassel 
made  eyes  at  him,  having  sufficient  money  of  her  own 
to  die  unwed,  and — and — and  then,  at  last,  as  the  big 
motor  car  swung  in  a  circle  at  Wenniston  Cross-Roads, 
and  poked  its  brass  and  lacquer  muzzle  toward  Shot- 
over,  the  talk  swung  back  to  Siward  once  more — having 
travelled  half  the  world  over  to  find  him. 

"  He  is  the  sweetest  fellow  with  his  mother,"  sighed 
Grace ;  "  and  that  counts  heavily  with  me.  But  there's 
trouble  ahead  for  her — sorrow  and  trouble  enough  for 
them  both,  if  he  is  a  true  Siward." 

"  Heredity  again !  "  said  Sylvia  impatiently.  "  Isn't 
he  man  enough  to  win  out?  I'll  bet  you  he  settles  down, 
marries,  and " 

"  Marries  ?  Not  he !  How  many  girls  do  you  sup 
pose  have  believed  that — were  justified  in  believing  he 
meant  anything  by  his  attractive  manner  and  nice  ways 
of  telling  you  how  much  he  liked  you?  He  had  a  des 
perate  affair  with  Mrs.  Mortimer — innocent  enough  I 
fancy.  He's  had  a  dozen  within  three  years;  and  in 
a  week  Rena  Bonnesdel  has  come  to  making  eyes  at  him, 
and  Eileen  gives  him  no  end  of  chances  which  he  doesn't 
see.  As  for  Marion  Page,  the  girl  had  been  on  the 
edge  of  loving  him  for  years!  You  laugh?  But  you 
are  wrong;  she  is  in  love  with  him  now  as  much  as  she 
ever  can  be  with  anybody." 

118 


A    WINNING   LOSER 


You  mean- 


"  Yes  I  do.     Hadn't  you  suspected  it?  " 

And  as  Sylvia  had  suspected  it  she  remained  silent. 

"  If  any  woman  in  this  world  could  keep  him  to  the 
mark,  she  could,"  continued  Mrs.  Ferrall.  "  He's  a 
perfect  fool  not  to  see  how  she  cares  for  him." 

Sylvia  said :    "  He  is  indeed." 

"  It  would  be  a  sensible  match,  if  she  cared  to  risk 
it,  and  if  he  would  only  ask  her.  But  he  won't." 

"  Perhaps,"  ventured  Sylvia,  "  she'll  ask  him.  She 
strikes  me  as  that  sort.  I  do  not  mean  it  unkindly — 
only  Marion  is  so  tailor-made  and  cigaretteful " 

Mrs.  Ferrall  looked  up  at  her. 

"  Did  he  propose  to  you?  " 

"  Yes— I  think  so."   , 

"  Then  it's  the  first  time  for  him.  He  finds  women 
only  too  willing  to  play  with  him  as  a  rule,  and  he  doesn't 
have  to  be  definite.  I  wonder  what  he  meant  by  being 
so  definite  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  he  meant  marriage,"  said  Sylvia  se 
renely  ;  yet  there  was  the  slightest  ring  in  her  voice ; 
and  it  amused  Mrs.  Ferrall  to  try  her  a  little  further. 

"  Oh,  you  think  he  really  intended  to  commit  him 
self?  " 

"Why  not?"  retorted  Sylvia,  turning  red.  "Do 
you  think  he  found  me  over-willing,  as  you  say  he  finds 
others?  " 

"  You  were  probably  a  new  sensation  for  him,"  in 
ferred  Mrs.  Ferrall  musingly.  "  You  mustn't  take  him 
seriously,  child — a  man  with  his  record.  Besides,  he 
has  the  same  facility  with  a  girl  that  he  has  with  every 
thing  else  he  tries;  his  pen — you  know  how  infernally 
clever  he  is;  and  he  can  make  good  verse,  and  write 
witty  jingles,  and  he  can  carry  home  with  him  any  opera 
9  119 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

and  play  it  decently,  too,  with  the  proper  harmonies. 
Anything  he  finds  amusing  he  is  clever  with — dogs, 
horses,  pen,  brush,  music,  women  " — that  was  too  mali 
cious,  for  Sylvia  had  flushed  up  painfully,  and  Grace 
Ferrall  dropped  her  gloved  hand  on  the  hand  of  the 
girl  beside  her :  "  Child,  child,"  she  said,  "  he  is  not  that 
sort ;  no  decent  man  ever  is  unless  the  girl  is  too." 

Sylvia,  sitting  up  very  straight  in  her  furs,  said: 
"  He  found  me  anything  but  difficult — if  that's  what 
you  mean." 

"  I  don't.  Please  don't  be  vexed,  dear.  I  plague 
everybody  when  I  see  an  opening.  There's  really  only 
one  thing  that  worries  me  about  it  all." 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Sylvia  without  interest. 

"  It's  that  you  might  be  tempted  to  care  a  little  for 
him,  which,  being  useless,  might  be  unwise." 

"  I  am  ...  tempted." 

"Not  seriously!" 

"  I  don't  know."  She  turned  in  a  sudden  nervous 
impatience  foreign  to  her.  "  Howard  Quarrier  is  too 
perfectly  imperfect  for  me.  I'm  glad  I've  said  it.  The 
things  he  knows  about  and  doesn't  know  have  been  a 
revelation  in  this  last  week  with  him.  There  is  too  much 
surface,  too  much  exterior  admirably  fashioned.  And 
inside  is  all  clock-work.  I've  said  it;  I'm  glad  I  have. 
He  seemed  different  at  Newport;  he  seemed  nice  at 
Lenox.  The  truth  is,  he's  a  horrid  disappointment — 
and  I'm  bored  to  death  at  my  brilliant  prospects." 

The  low  whizzing  hum  of  the  motor  filled  a  silence 
that  produced  considerable  effect  upon  Grace  Ferrall. 
And,  after  mastering  her  wits,  she  said  in  a  subdued 
voice : 

"  Of  course  it's  my  meddling." 

"  Of  course  it  isn't.  I  asked  your  opinion,  but  I 
120 


A    WINNING   LOSER 


knew  what  I  was  going  to  do.  Only,  I  did  think  him 
personally  possible — which  made  the  expediency,  the 
mercenary  view  of  it  easier  to  contemplate." 

She  was  becoming  as  frankly  brutal  as  she  knew  how 
to  be,  which  made  the  revolt  the  more  ominous. 

"  You  don't  think  you  could  endure  him  for  an  hour 
or  two  a  day,  Sylvia?  " 

"  It  is  not  that,"  said  the  girl  almost  sullenly. 

"  But " 

"  I'm  afraid  of  myself — call  it  inherited  mischief  if 
you  like !  If  I  let  a  man  do  to  me  what  Mr.  Siward  did 
when  I  was  only  engaged  to  Howard,  what  might  I 
do " 

"  You  are  not  that  sort !  "  said  Mrs.  Ferrall  bluntly. 
"  Don't  be  exotic,  Sylvia." 

"  How  do  you  know — if  /  don't  know?  Most  girls 
are  kissed ;  I — well  I  didn't  expect  to  be.  But  I  was ! 
I  tell  you,  Grace,  I  don't  know  what  I  am  or  shall  be. 
I'm  unsafe;  I  know  that  much." 

"  It's  moral  and  honest  to  realize  it,"  said  Mrs.  Fer 
rall  suavely ;  "  and  in  doing  so  you  insure  your  own 
safety.  Sylvia  dear,  I  wish  I  hadn't  meddled;  I'm 
meddling  some  more  I  suppose  when  I  say  to  you,  don't 
give  Howard  his  conge  for  the  present.  It  is  a  horridly 
common  thing  to  dwell  upon,  but  Howard  is  too  mate 
rially  important  to  be  cut  adrift  on  the  impulse  of  the 
moment." 

"  I  know  it." 

"  You  are  too  clever  not  to.  Consider  the  matter 
wisely,  dispassionately,  intelligently,  dear;  then  if  by 
April  you  simply  can't  stand  it — talk  the  thing  over 
with  me  again,"  she  ended  rather  vaguely  and  wist 
fully  ;  for  it  had  been  her  heart's  desire  to  wed  Sylvia's 
beauty  and  Quarrier's  fortune,  and  the  suitability  of  the 

121 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

one  for  the  other  was  apparent  enough  to  make  even 
sterner  moralists  wobbly  in  their  creed.  Quarrier,  as  a 
detail  of  modern  human  architecture,  she  supposed  might 
fit  in  somewhere,  and  took  that  for  granted  in  laying  the 
corner  stone  for  her  fairy  palace  which  Sylvia  was  to 
inhabit.  And  now! — oh,  vexation! — the  neglected  but 
essentially  constructive  detail  of  human  architecture  had 
buckled,  knocking  the  dream  palace  and  its  princess  and 
its  splendour  about  her  ears. 

"  Things  never  happen  in  real  life,"  she  observed 
plaintively ;  "  only  romances  have  plots  where  things 
work  out.  But  we  people  in  real  life,  we  just  go  on  and 
on  in  a  badly  constructed,  plotless  sort  of  way  with  no 
villains,  no  interesting  situations,  no  climaxes,  no  en 
semble.  No,  we  grow  old  and  irritable  and  meaner  and 
meaner;  we  lose  »our  good  looks  and  digestions,  and  we 
die  in  hopeless  discord  with  the  unity  required  in  a  dollar 
and  a  half  novel  by  a  master  of  modern  fiction." 

"  But  some  among  us  amass  fortunes,'5  suggested 
Sylvia,  laughing. 

"  But  we  don't  live  happy  ever  after.  Nobody  ever 
had  enough  money  in  real  life." 

"  Some  fall  in  love,"  observed  Sylvia,  musing. 

"  And  they  are  not  content,  silly ! " 

"  Why  ?  Because  nobody  ever  had  enough  love  in 
real  life,"  mocked  Sylvia. 

"  You  have  said  it,  child.  That  is  the  malady  of  the 
world,  and  nobody  knows  it  until  some  pretty  ninny 
like  you  babbles  the  truth.  And  that  is  why  we  care  for 
those  immortals  in  romance,  those  fortunate  lovers  who, 
in  fable,  are  given  and  give  enough  of  love;  those 
magic  shapes  in  verse  and  tale  whose  hearts  are  satisfied 
when  the  mad  author  of  their  being  inks  his  last  period 
and  goes  to  dinner." 


A    WINNING   LOSER 


Sylvia  laughed  awhile,  then,  chin  on  wrist,  sat  mus 
ing  there,  muffled  in  her  furs. 

"  As  for  love,  I  think  I  should  be  moderate  in  the 
asking,  in  the  giving.  A  little — to  flavour  routine — 
would  be  sufficient  for  me  I  fancy." 

"  You  know  so  much  about  it,"  observed  Mrs.  Ferrall 
ironically. 

"  I  am  permitted  to  speculate,  am  I  not  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  Only  speculate  in  sound  investments, 
dear." 

"  How  can  you  make  a  sound  investment  in  love? 
Isn't  it  always  sheerest  speculation?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  why  simple  matrimony  is  usually  a 
safer  speculation  than  love." 

"  Yes,  but — love  isn't  matrimony." 

"  Match  that  with  its  complementary  platitude  and 
you  have  the  essence  of  modern  fiction,"  observed  Mrs. 
Ferrall.  "  Love  is  a  subject  talked  to  death,  which  ex 
plains  the  present  shortage  in  the  market  I  suppose. 
You're  not  in  love  and  you  don't  miss  it.  Why  culti 
vate  an  artificial  taste  for  it?  If  it  ever  comes  natu 
rally,  you'll  be  astonished  at  you  capacity  for  it,  and 
the  constant  deterioration  in  quantity  and  quality  of 
the  visible  supply.  Goodness!  my  epigrams  make  me 
yawn — or  is  it  age  and  the  ill  humour  of  the  aged  when 
the  porridge  spills  over  on  the  family  cat?  " 

"  I  am  the  cat,  I  suppose,"  asked  Sylvia,  laughing. 

"  Yes  you  are — and  you  go  tearing  away,  back  up, 
fur  on  end,  leaving  me  by  the  fire  with  no  porridge  and 
only  the  aroma  of  the  singing  fur  to  comfort  me. 
.  .  .  Still  there's  one  thing  to  comfort  me." 

"What?" 

"  Kitty-cats  come  back,  dear." 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so.  ...  Do  you  believe  I  could  in- 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

duce  him  to  wear  his  hair  any  way  except  pompadour? 
.  .  .  and,  dear,  his  beard  is  so  dreadfully  silky.  Isn't 
there  anything  he  could  take  for  it?  " 

"  Only  a  razor  I'm  afraid.  Those  long,  thick,  soft, 
eyelashes  of  his  are  ominous.  Eyes  of  that  sort  ruin 
a  man  for  my  taste.  He  might  just  as  reasonably  wear 
my  hat." 

"  But  he  can't  follow  the  fashions  in  eyes,"  laughed 
Sylvia.  "  Oh,  this  is  atrocious  of  us — it  is  simply  hor 
rible  to  sit  here  and  say  such  things.  I  am  cold-blooded 
enough  as  it  is — material  enough,  mean,  covetous,  con 
temptible " 

"  Dear !  "  said  Grace  Ferrall  mildly,  "  you  are  not 
choosing  a  husband;  you  are  choosing  a  career.  To 
criticise  his  investments  might  be  bad  taste;  to  be  able 
to  extract  what  amusement  you  can  out  of  Howard  is 
a  direct  mercy  from  Heaven.  Otherwise  you'd  go  mad, 
you  know." 

"  Grace !     Do  you  wish  me  to  marry  him  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  alternative,  dear?  " 

"  Why,  nothing — self-respect,  dowdiness,  and  peace." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  All  I  can  see." 

"Not  Stephen  Siward?  " 

"To  marry?  No.  To  enjoy,  yes.  .  .  .  Grace,  I 
have  had  such  a  good  time  with  him;  you  don't  know! 
He  is  such  a  boy — sometimes;  and  I — I  believe  that  I 
am  rather  good  for  him.  .  .  .  Not  that  I'd  ever 
again  let  him  do  that  sort  of  thing.  .  .  .  Besides, 
his  curiosity  is  quenched;  I  am  the  sort  he  supposed. 
Now  he's  found  out  he  will  be  nice.  .  .  .  It's  been 
days  since  I've  had  a  talk  with  him.  He  tried  to,  but 
I  wouldn't.  Besides,  the  major  has  said  nasty  things 
about  him  when  Howard  was  present;  nothing  definite, 


A    WINNING   LOSER 


only  hints,  smiling,  silences,  innuendoes  on  the  verge 
of  matters  rather  unfit;  and  I  had  nothing  definite  to 
refute.  I  could  not  even  appear  to  understand  or  no 
tice — it  was  all  done  in  such  a  horridly  vague  way. 
But  it  only  made  me  like  him ;  and  no  doubt  that  actress 
he  took  to  the  Patroons  is  better  company  than  he  finds 
in  nine  places  out  of  ten  among  his  own  sort." 

"  Oh,"  said  Grace  Ferrall  slowly,  "  if  that  is  the 
way  you  feel,  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  play  with 
Mr.  Siward  whenever  you  like." 

"  Nor  I.  I've  been  a  perfect  fool  not  to.  ...  How 
ard  hates  him." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  What  a  question !  A  woman  knows  such  things. 
Then,  you  remember  that  caricature — so  dreadfully  like 
Howard?  Howard  has  no  sense  of  humour;  he  detests 
such  things.  It  was  the  most  dreadful  thing  that  Mr. 
Siward  could  have  done  to  him." 

"Meddled  again!"  groaned  Grace.  "Doesn't 
Howard  know  that  /  did  that?  " 

"  Yes,  but  nothing  I  can  say  alters  his  conviction 
that  the  likeness  was  intended.  You  know  it  was  a 
likeness!  And  if  Mr.  Siward  had  not  told  me  that  it 
was  not  intended,  I  should  never  have  believed  it  to  be 
an  accident." 

After  a  prolonged  silence  Sylvia  said,  overcare- 
lessly :  "  I  don't  quite  understand  Howard.  With  me 
anger  lasts  but  a  moment,  and  then  I'm  open  to  overtures 
for  peace  ...  I  think  Howard's  anger  lasts." 

"  It  does,"  said  Grace.  "  He  was  a  muff  as  a  boy 
— a  prig  with  a  prig's  memory  under  all  his  shallow, 
showy  surface.  I'm  frank  with  you ;  I  never  could  take 
my  cousin  either  respectfully  or  seriously,  but  I've 
known  him  to  take  his  own  anger  so  seriously  that  years 

125 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

after  he  has  visited  it  upon  those  who  had  really  wronged 
him.  And  he  is  equipped  for  retaliation  if  he  chooses. 
That  fortune  of  his  reaches  far.  .  .  .  Not  that  I 
think  him  capable  of  using  such  a  power  to  satisfy  a 
mere  personal  dislike.  Howard  has  principles,  loads  of 
them.  But — the  weapon  is  there." 

"  Is  it  true  that  Mr.  Siward  is  interested  in  building 
electric  roads  ?  "  asked  Sylvia  curiously. 

"  /  don't  know,  child.     Why?  " 

"  Nothing.     I  wondered." 

"Why?" 

"  Mr.  Mortimer  said  so." 

"  Then  I  suppose  he  is.  I'll  ask  Kemp  if  you  like. 
Why  ?  Isn't  it  all  right  to  build  them  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so.  Howard  is  in  it  somehow.  In  fact 
Howard's  company  is  behind  Mr.  Siward's,  I  believe." 

Grace  Ferrall  turned  and  looked  at  the  girl  beside 
her,  laughing  outright. 

"  Oh,  Howard  doesn't  do  mysterious  financial  things 
to  nice  young  men  because  they  draw  impudent  pictures 
of  him  running  after  his  dog — or  for  any  other  reason. 
That,  dear,  is  one  of  those  skilfully  developed  portions 
of  an  artistic  plot ;  and  plots  exist  only  in  romance.  So 
do  villains ;  and  besides,  my  cousin  isn't  one.  Besides 
that,  if  Howard  is  in  that  thing,  no  doubt  Kemp  and  I 
are  too.  So  your  nice  young  man  is  in  very  safe  com 
pany." 

"  You  draw  such  silly  inferences,"  said  Sylvia  coolly ; 
but  there  was  a  good  deal  of  colour  in  her  cheeks ;  and 
she  knew  it  and  pulled  her  big  motor  veil  across  her  face, 
fastening  it  under  her  chin.  All  of  which  amused  Grace 
Ferrall  infinitely  until  the  subtler  significance  of  the 
girl's  mental  processes  struck  her,  sobering  her  own 
thoughts.  Sylvia,  too,  had  grown  serious  in  her  preoc- 

126 


A    WINNING   LOSER 


cupation;  and  the  partie-a-deux  terminated  a  few  min 
utes  later  in  a  duet  of  silence  over  the  tea-cups  in  the 
gun-room. 

The  weather  had  turned  warm  and  misty;  one  of 
those  sudden  sea-coast  changes  had  greyed  the  blue  in 
the  sky,  spreading  a  fine  haze  over  land  and  water, 
effacing  the  crisp  sparkle  of  the  sea,  dulling  the  wester 
ing  sun. 

A  few  moments  later  Sylvia,  glancing  over  her 
shoulder,  noticed  that  a  fine  misty  drizzle  had  clouded 
the  casements.  That  meant  that  her  usual  evening  stroll 
on  the  cliffs  with  Quarrier,  before  dressing  for  dinner, 
was  off.  And  she  drew  a  little  breath  of  unconscious 
relief  as  Marion  Page  walked  in,  her  light  woollen  shoot 
ing- jacket,  her  hat,  shoes,  and  the  barrels  of  the  fowl 
ing-piece  tucked  under  her  left  arm-pit,  all  glimmering 
frostily  with  powdered  rain  drops. 

She  said  something  to  Grace  Ferrall  about  the  mist 
promising  good  point-shooting  in  the  morning,  took  the 
order  book  from  a  servant,  jotted  down  her  request  to 
be  called  an  hour  before  sunrise,  filled  in  the  gun-room 
records  with  her  score — the  species  and  number  bagged, 
and  the  number  of  shells  used — and  accepting  the  tea 
offered,  drew  out  a  tiny  cigarette-case  of  sweet-bay  wood 
heavily  crusted  with  rose-gold. 

"  With  whom  were  you  shooting?  "  asked  Grace,  as 
Marion  dropped  one  well-shaped  leg  over  the  other  and 
wreathed  her  delicately  tanned  features  in  smoke. 

"  Stephen  Siward  and  Blinky.  They're  at  it  yet, 
but  I  had  some  letters  to  write."  She  glanced  leisurely 
at  Sylvia  and  touched  the  ash-tray  with  the  whitening 
end  of  her  cigarette.  "  That  dog  you  let  Mr.  Siward 
have  is  a  good  one.  I'm  taking  him  to  Jersey  next  week 
for  the  cock-shooting." 

127 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

Sylvia  returned  her  calm  gaze  blankly. 

An  unreasonable  and  disagreeable  shock  had  passed 
through  her. 

"  My  North  Carolina  pointers  are  useless  for  close 
work,"  observed  Marion  indifferently;  and  she  leaned 
back,  watching  the  blue  smoke  curling  upward  from  her 
cigarette. 

Sylvia,  distrait,  but  with  downcast  eyes  on  fire  under 
the  fringed  lids,  was  thinking  of  the  cheque  Siward 
had  given  her  for  Sagamore.  The  transaction,  for 
her,  had  been  a  business  one  on  the  surface  only. 
She  had  never  meant  to  use  the  cheque.  She  had  laid 
it  away  among  a  few  letters,  relics,  pleasant  souvenirs 
of  the  summer.  To  her  the  affair  had  been  softened  by 
a  delicate  hint  of  intimacy, — the  delight  he  was  to  take 
in  something  that  had  once  been  hers  had  given  her  a 
faint  taste  of  the  pleasure  of  according  pleasure  to  a 
man.  And  this  is  what  he  had  done ! 

The  drizzle  had  turned  to  fog,  through  which  rain 
was  now  pelting  the  cliffs;  people  were  returning  from 
the  open ;  a  motor-car  came  whizzing  into  the  drive,  and 
out  of  it  tumbled  Rena  and  Eileen  and  the  faithful 
Pages,  the  girls  irritable  and  ready  for  tea,  and  the 
boys  like  a  pair  of  eager,  wagging,  setter  puppies, 
pleased  with  everything  and  everybody,  utterly  oblivious 
to  the  sombre  repose  brooding  above  the  tea-table. 

Their  sister  calmly  refused  them  the  use  of  her  ciga 
rettes.  Eileen  presented  her  pretty  shoulder,  Rena 
nearly  yawned  at  them,  but,  nothing  dampened,  they 
recounted  a  number  of  incidents  with  reciprocal  enthu 
siasm  to  Sylvia,  who  was  too  inattentive  to  smile,  and  to 
Grace  Ferrall,  who  smiled  the  more  sweetly  through  sheer 
inattention. 

Then  Alderdene  came  in,  blinking  a  greeting  through 
128 


WINNING   LOSER 


his  foggy  goggles,  sloppy,  baggy,  heavy  shoes  wheez 
ing,  lingered  in  the  vicinity  long  enough  to  swallow  his 
"  peg  "  and  acquire  a  disdainful  opinion  of  his  shooting 
from  Marion,  and  then  took  himself  off,  leaving  the  room 
noisy  with  his  laugh,  which  resembled  the  rattle  of  a 
startled  kingfisher. 

In  ones  and  twos  the  guests  reported  as  the  dusk- 
curtained  fog  closed  in  on  Shotover.  Quarrier  came, 
dry  as  a  chip  under  his  rain-coat,  but  his  silky  beard  was 
wet  with  rain,  and  moisture  powdered  his  long,  soft 
eyelashes  and  white  skin ;  and  his  flexible,  pointed  fingers, 
as  he  drew  off  his  gloves,  seemed  startling  in  their  white 
ness  through  the  gathering  gloom. 

"  I  suppose  our  evening  walk  is  out  of  the  question," 
he  said,  standing  by  Sylvia,  who  had  nodded  a  greet 
ing  and  then  turned  her  head  rather  hastily  to  see  who 
had  entered  the  room.  It  was  Siward,  only  a  vague 
shape  in  the  gloom,  but  perfectly  recognisable  to  her. 
At  the  same  moment  Marion  Page  rose  leisurely  and 
strolled  toward  the  billiard-room. 

"  Our  walk  ?  "  repeated  Sylvia  absently — "  it's  rain 
ing,  you  know."  Yet  only  a  day  or  two  ago  she  had 
walked  to  church  with  Siward  through  the  rain,  the 
irritated  Major  feeling  obliged  to  go  with  them.  Her 
eyes  followed  Siward's  figure,  suddenly  dark  against  the 
door  of  the  lighted  billiard-room,  then  brilliantly  illu 
minated,  as  he  entered,  nodded  acceptance  to  Mortimer's 
invitation,  and  picked  up  the  cue  just  laid  aside  by 
Agatha  Caithness,  who  had  turned  to  speak  to  Marion. 
Then  Mortimer's  bulk  loomed  nearer ;  voices  became  gay 
and  animated  in  the  billiard-room.  Siward's  handsome 
face  was  bent  toward  Agatha  Caithness  in  gay  chal 
lenge;  Mortimer's  heavy  laugh  broke  out;  there  came 
the  rattle  of  pool-balls,  and  the  dull  sound  of  cue-butts 

129 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

striking  the  floor;  then,  crack!  and  the  game  began, 
with  Marion  Page  and  Siward  fighting  Mortimer  and 
Miss  Caithness  for  something  or  other. 

Quarrier  had  been  speaking  for  some  time  before 
Sylvia  became  aware  of  it — something  about  a  brisk 
walk  in  the  morning  somewhere;  and  she  nodded  im 
patiently,  watching  Marion's  supple  waist-line  as  she 
bent  far  over  the  illuminated  table  for  a  complicated 
shot  at  the  enemy. 

His  fiancee's  inattention  was  not  agreeable  to  Quar 
rier.  A  dozen  things  had  happened  since  his  arrival 
which  had  not  been  agreeable  to  him :  her  failure  to  meet 
him  at  the  Fells  Crossing,  and  the  reason  for  her  fail 
ure  ;  and  her  informal  acquaintance  with  Siward,  whose 
presence  at  Shotover  he  had  not  looked  for,  and  her 
sudden  intimacy  with  the  man  he  had  never  particularly 
liked,  and  whom  within  six  months  he  had  come  to  detest 
and  to  avoid. 

These  things — the  outrageous  liberty  Siward  had 
permitted  himself  in  caricaturing  him,  the  mortifying 
caprice  of  Sylvia  for  Siward  on  the  day  of  the  Shot- 
over  cup-drive — had  left  indelible  impressions  in  a  cold 
and  rather  heavy  mind,  slow  to  waste  effort  in  the  in 
dulgence  of  any  vital  emotion. 

In  a  few  years  indifference  to  Siward  had  changed  to 
passive  disapproval;  that,  again,  to  an  emotionless  dis 
like;  and  when  the  scandal  at  the  Patroons  Club  oc 
curred,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  understood  what 
it  was  to  fear  the  man  he  disliked.  For  if  Siward 
had  committed  the  insane  imprudence  which  had  cost 
him  his  title  to  membership,  he  had  also  done  something, 
knowingly  or  otherwise,  which  awoke  in  Quarrier  a  cold, 
slow  fear ;  and  that  fear  was  dormant,  but  present,  now, 
and  it,  for  the  time  being,  dictated  his  attitude  and  bear- 

130 


A    WINNING   LOSER 


ing  toward  the  man  who  might  or  might  not  be  capable 
of  using  viciously  a  knowledge  which  Quarrier  believed 
that  he  must  possess. 

For  that  reason,  when  it  was  not  possible  to  avoid 
Siward,  his  bearing  toward  him  was  carefully  civil;  for 
that  reason  he  dampened  Major  Belwether's  eager 
ness  to  tell  everybody  all  he  knew  about  the  shame 
lessly  imprudent  girl  who  had  figured  with  Siward  in 
the  scandal,  but  whose  identity  the  press  had  not  dis 
covered. 

Silence  was  always  desirable  to  Quarrier;  silence 
concerning  all  matters  was  a  trait  inborn  and  conge 
nially  cultivated  to  a  habit  by  him  in  every  affair  of  life 
— in  business,  in  leisure,  in  the  methodical  pursuits  of 
such  pleasures  as  a  limited  intellect  permitted  him,  in 
personal  and  family  matters,  in  public  questions  and 
financial  problems. 

He  listened  always,  but  never  invited  confidences; 
he  had  no  opinion  to  express  when  invited.  And  he 
became  very,  very  rich. 

And  over  it  all  spread  a  thin  membrane  of  vanity, 
nervous,  not  intellectual,  sensitiveness;  for  all  sense  of 
humour  was  absent  in  this  man,  whose  smile,  when  not 
a  physical  effort,  was  automatically  and  methodically 
responsive  to  certain  fixed  cues.  He  smiled  when  he 
said  "  Good  morning,"  when  declining  or  accepting  in 
vitations,  when  taking  his  leave,  when  meeting  anybody 
of  any  financial  importance,  and  when  everybody  except 
himself  had  begun  to  laugh  in  a  theatre  or  a  drawing- 
room.  This  limit  to  any  personal  manifestation  he  con 
sidered  a  generous  one.  And  perhaps  it  was. 

A  sudden  rain-squall,  noisy  against  the  casements, 
had  darkened  the  room;  then  the  electric  lights  broke 

131 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 


out  with  a  mild  candle-like  lustre,  and  Quarrier,  stand 
ing  beside  Sylvia's  chair,  discovered  it  to  be  empty. 

It  was  not  until  he  had  dressed  for  dinner  that  he 
saw  her  again,  seated  on  the  stairs  with  Marion  Page — 
a  new  appearance  of  intimacy  for  both  women,  who 
heretofore  had  found  nothing  except  a  passing  civility 
in  common. 

Marion  was  discussing  dog-breeding  with  that  cool, 
crude,  direct  insouciance  so  unpleasant  to  some  men. 
Sylvia  was  attentive,  curious,  and  instinctively  shrink 
ing  by  turns,  secretly  dismayed  at  the  overplainness  of 
terms  employed  in  kennel  lore  by  the  girl  at  her  side. 

The  conversation  veered  toward  the  Sagamore  pup. 
Marion  explained  that  Siward  was  too  busy  to  do  any 
Southern  shooting,  which  was  why  he  was  glad  to  have 
her  polish  Sagamore  on  Jersey  woodcock. 

"  I  thought  it  was  not  good  for  a  dog  to  be  used  by 
anybody  except  his  master,"  said  Sylvia  carelessly. 

"  Only  second-raters  suffer.  Besides,  I  have  shot 
enough,  now,  with  Mr.  Siward  to  use  his  dog  as  he 
does." 

"  He  is  an  agreeable  shooting  companion,"  smiled 
Sylvia. 

"  He  is  perfect,"  answered  Marion  coolly.  "  The 
only  test  for  a  thoroughbred  is  the  field.  He  rings  true." 

They  exchanged  carefully  impersonal  views  on  Si- 
ward's  good  qualities  for  a  moment  or  two ;  then  Marion 
said  bluntly :  "  Do  you  know  anything  in  particular 
about  that  Patroons  Club  affair?  " 

"  No,"  said  Sylvia,  "  nothing  in  particular." 

"  Neither  do  I ;  and  I  don't  care  to ;  I  mean,  that  I 
don't  care  what  he  did;  and  I  wish  that  gossiping  old 
Major  would  stop  trying  to  hint  it  to  me." 

"My  uncle!" 

132 


A    WINNING   LOSER 


"  Oh !  I  forgot.  Beg  your  pardon,  you  know, 
but " 

"  I'm  not  offended,"  observed  Sylvia,  with  a  shrug 
of  her  pretty,  bare  shoulders. 

Marion  laughed.  "  Such  a  gadabout !  Besides, 
I'm  no  prude,  but  he  and  Leroy  Mortimer  have  no  busi 
ness  to  talk  to  unmarried  women  the  way  they  do.  No 
matter  how  worldly  wise  we  are,  men  have  no  right  to 
suppose  we  are." 

"  Pooh !  "  shrugged  Sylvia.  "  I  have  no  patience  to 
study  out  double-entendre,  so  it  never  shocks  me.  Be 
sides " 

She  was  going  to  add  that  she  was  not  at  all  versed 
in  doubtful  worldly  wisdom,  but  decided  not  to,  as  it 
might  seem  to  imply  disapproval  of  Marion's  learning. 
So  she  went  on :  "  Besides,  what  have  innuendoes  to  do 
with  Mr.  Siward?  " 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  care  to  understand  them. 
The  Major  hinted  that  the  woman — the  one  who  figured 
in  it — is — rather  exclusively  Mr.  Siward's  '  property.'  " 

"  Exclusively  ?  "  repeated  Sylvia  curiously.  "  She's 
a  public  actress,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"  If  you  call  the  manoeuvres  of  a  newly  fledged 
chorus  girl  acting,  yes,  she  is.  But  I  don't  believe  Mr. 
Siward  figures  in  that  unfashionable  role.  Why,  there 
are  too  many  women  of  his  own  sort  ready  for  mischief." 
Marion  turned  to  Sylvia,  her  eyes  hard  with  a  cynicism 
quite  lost  on  the  other.  "  That  sort  of  thing  might 
suit  Leroy  Mortimer,  but  it  doesn't  fit  Mr.  Siward,  she 
concluded,  rising  as  their  hostess  appeared  from  above 
and  the  butler  from  below. 

And  all  through  dinner  an  indefinitely  unpleasant 
remembrance  of  the  conversation  lingered  with  Sylvia, 
and  she  sat  silent  for  minutes  at  a  time,  returning  to 

133 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

actualities  with  a  long,  curious  side-glance  across  at  Si- 
ward,  and  an  uncomprehending  smile  of  assent  for  what 
ever  Quarrier  or  Major  Belwether  had  been  saying  to 
her. 

Cards  she  managed  to  avoid  after  dinner,  and  stood 
by  Quarrier's  chair  for  half  an  hour,  absently  watching 
the  relentless  method  and  steady  adherence  to  rule  which 
characterised  his  Bridge-playing,  the  eager,  unslaked 
brutality  of  Mortimer,  the  set,  selfish  face  of  his  pretty 
wife,  the  chilled  intensity  of  Miss  Caithness. 

And  Grace  FerralPs  phrase  recurred  to  her,  "  No 
body  ever  has  enough  money !  " — not  even  these  people, 
whose  only  worry  was  to  find  investment  for  the  surplus 
they  were  unable  to  spend.  Something  of  the  meanness 
of  it  all  penetrated  her.  Were  these  the  real  visages  of 
these  people,  whose  faces  otherwise  seemed  so  smooth  and 
human?  Was  Leila  Mortimer  aware  of  the  shrillness 
of  her  voice?  Did  Agatha  Caithness  realise  how  pinched 
her  mouth  and  nose  had  grown  ?  Did  even  Leroy  Morti 
mer  dream  how  swollen  the  pouches  under  his  eyes  were ; 
how  red  and  puffy  his  hands,  shuffling  a  new  pack ;  how 
pendulous  and  dreadful  his  red  under-lip  when  absorb- 
edly  making  up  his  cards? 

Instinctively  she  moved  a  step  forward  for  a  glimpse 
of  Quarrier's  face.  The  face  appeared  to  be  a  study 
in  blankness.  His  natural  visage  was  emotionless  and 
inexpressive  enough,  but  this  face,  from  which  every 
vestige  of  colour  had  fled,  fascinated  her  with  its  dead 
whiteness;  and  the  hair  brushed  high,  the  long,  black 
lashes,  the  silky  beard,  struck  her  as  absolutely  ghastly, 
as  though  they  had  been  glued  to  a  face  of  wax. 

She  turned  on  her  heel,  restless,  depressed,  inclined 
for  companionship.  The  Page  boys  had  tempted  Rena 
and  Eileen  to  the  billiard-room;  Voucher,  Alderdene, 

134. 


A    WINNING   LOSER 


and  Major  Belwether  were  huddled  over  a  table,  im 
mersed  in  Preference;  Katharyn  Tassel  and  Grace  Fer- 
rall  sat  together  looking  over  the  announcements  of  Syl 
via's  engagement  in  a  batch  of  New  York  papers  just 
arrived ;  Ferrall  was  writing  at  a  desk,  and  Siward  and 
Marion  were  occupied  in  the  former's  sketch  for  an  ideal 
shooting  vehicle,  to  be  built  on  the  buckboard  principle, 
with  a  clever  arrangement  for  dogs,  guns,  ammunition, 
and  provisions.  Siward's  profile,  as  it  bent  in  the  lamp 
light  over  the  paper,  was  very  engaging.  The  boyish 
note  predominated  as  he  talked  while  he  drew,  his  eyes 
now  smiling,  now  seriously  intent  on  the  sketch  which 
was  developing  so  swiftly  under  his  facile  pencil. 

Marion's  clean-cut  blond  head  was  close  to  his,  her 
supple  body  twisted  in  her  seat,  one  bare  arm  hanging 
over  the  back  of  the  chair.  Something  in  her  attitude 
seemed  to  exclude  intrusion ;  her  voice,  too,  was  hushed 
in  comment,  though  his  was  pitched  in  his  naturally 
agreeable  key. 

Sylvia  had  taken  a  hesitating  step  toward  them, 
but  halted,  turning  irresolutely;  and  suddenly  over  her 
crept  a  sensation  of  isolation — something  of  that  feel 
ing  which  had  roused  her  at  midnight  from  her  bed  and 
driven  her  to  Grace  Ferrall  for  a  refuge  from  she  knew 
not  what. 

The  rustle  of  her  silken  dinner  gown  was  scarcely 
perceptible  as  she  turned.  Siward,  moving  his  head 
slightly,  glanced  up,  then  brought  his  sketch  to  a  bril 
liant  finish. 

"  Don't  you  think  something  of  this  sort  is  practi 
cable?  "  he  asked  pleasantly,  including  Mrs.  Ferrall  and 
Katharyn  Tassel  in  a  general  appeal  which  brought 
them  into  the  circle  of  two.  Grace  Ferrall  leaned  for 
ward,  looking  over  Marion's  shoulder,  and  Siward  rose 
10  135 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

and  stepped  back,  with  a  quick  glance  into  the  hall — 
in  time  to  catch  a  glimmer  of  pale  blue  and  lace  on  the 
stairs. 

"  I  suppose  my  cigarettes  are  in  my  room  as  usual," 
he  said  aloud  to  himself,  wheeling  so  that  he  could  not 
have  time  to  see  Marion's  offer  of  her  little  gold- 
encrusted  case,  or  notice  her  quickly  raised  eyes,  bright 
with  suspicion  and  vexation.  For  she,  too,  had  observed 
Sylvia's  distant  entrance,  had  been  perfectly  aware  of 
Siward's  cognisance  of  Sylvia's  retreat;  and  when  Si- 
ward  went  on  sketching  she  had  been  content.  Now 
she  could  not  tell  whether  he  had  deliberately  and  skill 
fully  taken  his  conge  to  follow  Sylvia,  or  whether,  in 
his  quest  for  his  cigarettes,  chance  might  meddle,  as 
usual.  Even  if  he  returned,  she  could  not  know  with 
certainty  how  much  of  a  part  hazard  had  played  on  the 
landing  above,  where  she  already  heard  the  distant 
sounds  of  Sylvia's  voice  mingling  with  Siward's,  then 
a  light  footfall  or  two,  and  silence. 

He  had  greeted  her  in  his  usual  careless,  happy 
fashion,  just  as  she  had  reached  her  chamber  door;  and 
she  turned  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  confused,  un 
smiling,  a  little  pale. 

"  Is  it  headache,  or  are  you  too  in  quest  of 
cigarettes  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  stopped  in  passing  her 
where  she  stood,  one  slender  hand  on  the  knob  of  her 
door. 

"  /  don't  smoke,  you  know,"  she  said,  looking  up 
at  him  with  a  cool  little  laugh.  "  It  isn't  headache 
either.  I  was — boring  myself,  Mr.  Siward." 

"  Is  there  any  virtue  in  me  as  a  remedy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  doubt  you  have  lots  of  virtues. 
.  .  .  Perhaps  you  might  do  as  a  temporary  remedy 

136 


WINNING   LOSER 


— first  aid  to  the  injured."     She  laughed  again,  uncer 
tainly.     "  But  you  are  on  a  quest  for  cigarettes." 

"And  you?" 

"  A  rendezvous — with  the  Sand-Man.  .  .  .  Good 
night." 

"  Good  night  ...  if  you  must  say  it." 

"  It's  polite  to  say  something  .  .  .  isn't  it?" 

"  It  would  be  polite  to  say,  '  With  pleasure,  Mr.  Si- 
ward!'" 

"  But  you  haven't  invited  me  to  do  anything — not 
even  to  accept  a  cigarette.  Besides,  you  didn't  expect 
to  meet  me  up  here?  " 

The  trailing  accent  made  it  near  enough  a  question 
for  him  to  say,  "  Yes,  I  did." 

"  How  could  you  ?  " 

"  I  saw  you  leave  the  room." 

"  You  were  sketching  for  Marion  Page.  Do  you 
wish  me  to  believe  that  you  noticed  me  and " 

"• — And  followed  you?     Yes,  I  did  follow  you." 

She  looked  at  him,  then  past  him  toward  a  corner 
of  the  wide  hall  where  a  maid  in  cap  and  apron  sat 
pretending  to  be  sewing.  "  Careful !  "  she  motioned 
with  smiling  lips,  "  servants  gossip.  .  .  .  Good  night, 
again." 

"  Won't  you " 

"  Oh,  dear !  you  mustn't  speak  so  loud,"  she  mo 
tioned,  with  her  fresh,  sweet  lips  curving  on  the  edge 
of  that  adorable  smile  once  more. 

"  Couldn't  we  have  a  moment " 

«  NO " 

"  One  minute " 

"  Hush !  I  must  open  my  door  " — lingering.  "  I 
might  come  out  again,  if  you  have  anything  particularly 
important  to  communicate  to  me." 

137 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 


"  I  have.  There's  a  big  bay-window  at  the  end  of 
the  other  corridor.  Will  you  come?  " 

But  she  opened  her  door,  with  a  light  laugh,  saying 
"  good  night  "  again,  and  closed  it  noiselessly  behind 
her. 

He  walked  on,  turning  into  his  corridor,  but  kept 
straight  ahead,  passing  his  own  door,  on  to  the  window 
at  the  end  of  the  hall,  then  north  along  a  wide  passage 
way  which  terminated  in  a  bay-window  overlooking  the 
roof  of  the  indoor  swimming  tank. 

Rain  rattled  heavily  against  the  panes  and  on  the 
lighted  roof  of  opalescent  glass  below,  through  which 
he  could  make  out  the  shadowy  fronds  of  palms. 

It  appeared  that  he  had  cigarettes  enough,  for  he 
lighted  one  presently,  and,  leaving  his  chair,  curled  up 
in  the  cushioned  and  pillowed  window-seat,  gathering 
his  knees  together  under  his  arm. 

The  cigarette  he  had  lighted  went  out.  He  had  bit 
ten  into  it  and  twisted  it  so  roughly  that  it  presently 
crumbled ;  and  he  threw  the  rags  of  it  into  a  metal  bowl, 
locking  his  jaws  in  silence.  For  the  night  threatened  to 
be  a  bad  one  for  him.  A  heavy  fragrance  from  his 
neighbour's  wine-glass  at  dinner  had  stirred  up  what 
had  for  a  time  lain  dormant ;  and,  by  accident,  some 
thing — some  sweetmeat  he  had  tasted — was  saturated  in 
brandy. 

Now,  his  restlessness  at  the  prospect  of  a  blank  night 
had  quickened  to  uneasiness,  with  a  hint  of  fever  tinting 
his  skin,  but,  as  yet,  the  dull  ache  in  his  body  was  scarcely 
more  than  a  premonition. 

He  had  his  own  devices  for  tiding  him  over  such 
periods — reading,  tobacco,  and  the  long,  blind,  dogged 
tramps  he  took  in  town.  But  here,  to-night,  in  the  rain, 
one  stood  every  chance  of  walking  off  the  cliffs ;  and  he 

138 


A    WINNING   LOSER 


was  sick  of  reading  himself  sightless  over  the  sort  of 
books  sent  wholesale  to  Shotover ;  and  he  was  already  too 
ill  at  ease,  physically,  to  make  smoking  endurable. 

Were  it  not  for  a  half -defiant,  half-sullen  dread  of 
the  coming  night,  he  might  have  put  it  from  his  mind 
in  spite  of  the  slowly  increasing  nervous  tension  and  the 
steady  dull  consciousness  of  desire.  He  drew  another 
Sirdar  from  his  case  and  sat  staring  at  the  rain-smeared 
night,  twisting  the  frail  fragrant  cigarette  to  bits  be 
tween  his  fingers. 

After  a  while  he  began  to  walk  monotonously  to  and 
fro  the  length  of  the  corridor,  like  a  man  timing  his  steps 
to  the  heavy  ache  of  body  or  mind.  Once  he  went  as  far 
as  his  own  door,  entered,  and  stepping  to  the  wash-basin, 
let  the  icy  water  run  over  hands  and  wrists.  This  some 
times  helped  to  stimulate  and  soothe  him ;  it  did  now,  for 
a  while — long  enough  to  change  the  current  of  his 
thoughts  to  the  girl  he  had  hoped  might  have  the  im 
prudence  to  return  for  a  tryst,  innocent  enough  in  itself, 
yet  unconventional  and  unreasonable  enough  to  prove 
attractive  to  them  both. 

Probably  she  wouldn't  come ;  she  had  kept  her  fluffy 
skirts  clear  of  him  since  Cup  Day — which  simply  cor 
roborated  his  vague  estimate  of  her.  Had  she  done  the 
contrary,  his  estimate  would  have  been  the  same ;  for,  un 
consciously  but  naturally,  he  had  prejudged  her.  A 
girl  who  could  capture  Quarrier  at  full  noontide,  and  in 
the  face  of  all  Manhattan,  was  a  girl  equipped  for  any 
thing  she  dared — though  she  was  probably  too  clever  to 
dare  too  much ;  a  girl  to  be  interested  in,  to  amuse  and  be 
amused  by;  a  girl  to  be  reckoned  with.  His  restlessness 
and  his  fever  subdued  by  the  icy  water,  he  stood  drying 
his  hands,  thinking,  coolly,  how  close  he  had  come  to  being 
seriously  in  love  with  this  young  girl,  whose  attitude  was 

139 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

always  a  curious  temptation,  whose  smile  was  a  charming 
provocation,  whose  youth  and  beauty  were  to  him  a  per 
petual  challenge.  He  admitted  to  himself,  calmly,  that 
he  had  never  seen  a  woman  he  cared  as  much  for;  that 
for  the  brief  moment  of  his  declaration  he  had  known 
an  utterly  new  emotion,  which  inevitably  must  have  be 
come  the  love  he  had  so  quietly  declared  it  to  be.  He 
had  never  before  felt  as  he  felt  then,  cared  as  he  cared 
then.  Anything  had  been  possible  for  him  at  that  time 
— any  degree  of  love,  any  devotion,  any  generous  renun 
ciation.  Clear-sighted,  master  of  himself,  he  saw  love 
before  him,  and  knew  it  when  he  saw  it;  recognised  it, 
was  ready  for  it,  offered  it,  emboldened  by  her  soft  hands 
so  eloquent  in  his. 

And  in  his  arms  he  held  it  for  an  instant,  he  thought, 
spite  of  the  sudden  inertia,  spite  of  the  according  of 
cold  lips  and  hands  still  colder,  relaxed,  inert;  held  it 
until  he  doubted.  That  was  all;  he  had  been  wise  to 
doubt  such  sudden  miracles  as  that.  She,  consummate 
and  charming,  had  soon  set  him  right.  And,  after  all, 
she  liked  him ;  and  she  had  been  sure  enough  of  herself  to 
permit  the  impulse  of  a  moment  to  carry  her  with  him — 
a  little  way,  a  very  little  way — merely  to  the  formal 
symbol  of  a  passion  the  germ  of  which  she  recognised  in 
him. 

Then  she  had  become  intelligent  again,  with  a  little 
laughter,  a  little  malice,  a  becoming  tint  of  hesitation 
and  confusion ;  all  the  sense,  all  the  arts,  all  the  friendly 
sweetness  of  a  woman  thorough  in  training,  schooled  in 
self-possession,  clear  enough  to  be  audacious  and  per 
verse  without  danger  to  herself,  to  the  man,  or  to  the 
main  chance. 

Standing  there  alone  in  his  lighted  room,  he  wondered 
whether,  had  her  trained  and  inbred  policy  been  less 

140 


A    WINNING   LOSER 


precise,  less  worldly,  she  might  have  responded  to  such 
a  man  as  he.  Perfectly  conscious  that  he  had  been 
capable  of  loving  her;  aware,  too,  that  his  experience 
had  left  him  on  that  borderland  only  through  his  cool 
refusal  to  cross  it  and  face  a  hopeless  battle  already  lost, 
he  leisurely  and  mentally  took  the  measure  of  his  own 
state  of  mind,  and  found  all  well,  all  intact ;  found  him 
self  still  master  of  his  affections,  and  probably  clear- 
minded  enough  to  remain  so  under  the  circumstances. 

To  such  a  man  as  he,  impulse  to  love,  capacity  to 
love,  did  not  mean  instant  capsizing  with  a  flop  into  sen 
timental  tempests,  where  swamped,  ardent  and  callow 
youth  raises  a  hysterically  selfish  clamour  for  reciprocity 
or  death.  His  nature  partly,  partly  his  character,  ac 
counted  for  this  balance;  and,  in  part,  a  rather  wide 
experience  with  women  of  various  degrees  counted  more. 

So,  by  instinct  and  experience,  normally  temperate, 
only  what  was  abnormal  and  inherited  might  work  a 
mischief  in  this  man.  His  listlessness,  his  easy  acquies 
cence,  were  but  consequent  upon  the  self-knowledge  of 
self-control.  But  mastery  of  the  master-vice  required 
something  different;  he  was  sick  of  a  sickness;  and  be 
cause,  in  this  sickness,  will,  mind,  and  body  are  tainted 
too,  reason  and  logic  lack  clarity;  and,  to  the  signals 
of  danger  his  reply  had  always  been  either  overconfident 
or  weak — and  it  had  been  always  the  same  reply :  "  Not 
yet.  There  is  time."  And  now,  this  last  week,  it  had 
come  upon  him  that  the  time  was  now ;  the  skirmish  was 
already  on ;  and  it  had  alarmed  him  suddenly  to  find  that 
the  skirmish  was  already  a  battle,  and  a  rough  one. 

As  he  stood  there  he  heard  voices  on  the  stairs. 
People  had  already  begun  to  retire,  because  late  cards 
and  point-shooting  at  dawn  do  not  agree.  And  a  point- 

141 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

shooting  picnic  in  snugly  elaborate  blinds  was  popular 
with  women — or  was  supposed  to  be. 

He  could  distinguish  by  their  voices,  by  their  laugh 
ter  and  step,  the  people  who  were  mounting  the  stairway 
and  lingering  for  gossip  or  passing  through  the  various 
corridors  to  court  the  sleep  denied  him ;  he  heard  Morti 
mer's  heavy  tread  and  the  soft  shuffling  step  of  Major 
Belwether  as  they  left  the  elevator ;  and  the  patter  of  his 
hostess's  satin  slippers,  and  her  gay  "  good  night  "  on 
the  stairs. 

Little  by  little  the  tumult  died  away.  Quarrier's 
measured  step  came,  passed;  Marion  Page's  cool,  crisp 
voice  and  walk,  and  the  giggle  and  amble  of  the  twins, 
and  Rena  and  Eileen, — the  last  laggards,  with  Ferrall's 
brisk,  decisive  tones  and  stride  to  close  the  procession. 

He  turned  and  looked  grimly  at  his  bed,  then,  shut 
ting  off  the  lights,  he  opened  his  door  and  went  out  into 
the  deserted  corridor,  where  the  elevator  shaft  was  dark 
and  only  the  dim  night-lights  burned  at  angles  in  the 
passage-ways. 

He  had  his  rain-coat  and  cap  with  him,  not  being 
certain  of  what  he  might  be  driven  to ;  but  for  the  present 
he  found  the  bay-window  overlooking  the  swimming  tank 
sufficient  to  begin  the  vigil. 

Secure  from  intrusion,  as  there  were  no  bedrooms  on 
that  corridor,  he  tossed  coat  and  cap  into  the  window- 
seat,  walked  to  and  fro  for  a  while  listening  to  the  rain, 
then  sat  down,  his  well-shaped  head  between  his  hands. 
And  in  silence  he  faced  the  Enemy. 

How  long  he  had  sat  there  he  did  not  know.  When 
he  raised  his  face,  all  gray  and  drawn  with  the  tension 
of  conflict,  his  eyes  were  not  very  clear,  nor  did  the  figure 
standing  there  in  the  dim  light  from  the  hall  mean  any 
thing  for  a  moment. 


A    WINNING   LOSER 


"  Mr.  Siward  ?  "  in  an  uncertain  voice,  almost  a 
whisper. 

He  stood  up  mechanically,  and  she  saw  his  face. 

"  Are  you  ill  ?     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  111?  No."  He  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes.  "  I 
fancy  I  was  close  to  the  edge  of  sleep."  Some  colour 
came  back  into  his  face;  he  stood  smiling  now,  the  sig 
nificance  of  her  presence  dawning  on  him. 

"  Did  you  really  come?  "  he  asked.  "  This  isn't  a 
very  lovely  but  impalpable  astral  vision,  is  it?  " 

"  It's  horridly  imprudent,  isn't  it  ?  "  she  murmured, 
still  considering  the  rather  drawn  and  pallid  face  of  the 
man  before  her.  "  I  came  out  of  pure  curiosity,  Mr. 
JSiward." 

She  glanced  about  her.  He  moved  a  big  bunch  of 
hothouse  roses  so  she  could  pass,  and  she  settled  down 
lightly  on  the  edge  of  the  window-seat.  When  he  had 
piled  some  big  downy  cushions  behind  her  back,  she  made 
a  quick  gesture  of  invitation. 

"  I  have  only  a  moment,"  she  said,  as  he  seated  him 
self  beside  her.  "  Part  of  my  curiosity  is  satisfied  in 
finding  you  here ;  I  didn't  suppose  you  so  faithful." 

"  I  can  be  fairly  faithful.  What  else  are  you  curious 
about?" 

"  You  said  you  had  something  important " 

" — To  tell  you?  So  I  did.  That  was  bribery,  per 
jury,  false  pretences,  robbery  under  arms,  anything  you 
will !  I  only  wanted  you  to  come." 

"  That  is  a  shameful  confession ! "  she  said ;  but  her 
smile  was  gay  enough,  and  she  noiselessly  shook  out  her 
fluffy  skirts  and  settled  herself  a  trifle  more  deeply  among 
the  pillows. 

"  Of  course,"  she  observed  absently,  "  you  are  dread 
fully  mortified  at  yourself." 

143 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

"  Naturally,"  he  admitted. 

The  patter  of  the  rain  attracted  her  attention ;  she 
peered  out  through  the  blurred  casements  into  the  black 
ness.  Then,  picking  up  his  cap  and  indicating  his  rain 
coat,  "  Why?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh — in  case  you  hadn't  come " 

"  A  walk?  By  yourself?  A  night  like  this  on  the 
cliffs !  You  are  not  perfectly  mad,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Not  perfectly." 

Her  face  grew  serious  and  beautiful. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Siward?  " 

"  Things." 

"  Do  you  care  to  be  more  explicit?  " 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  a  humourous  glance  at  her, 
"  I  haven't  seen  you  for  ages.  That's  not  wholesome 
for  me,  you  know." 

"But  you  see  me  now ;  and  it  does  not  seem  to  benefit 
you." 

"  I  feel  much  better,"  he  insisted,  laughing ;  and  her 
blue  eyes  grew  very  lovely  as  the  smile  broke  from  them 
in  uncertain  response. 

"  So  you  had  nothing  really  important  to  tell  me, 
Mr.  Siward?" 

"  Only  that  I  wanted  you." 

"  Oh!  ...  I  said  important." 

But  he  did  not  argue  the  question;  and  she  leaned 
forward,  broke  a  rose  from  its  stem,  then  sank  back  a  little 
way  among  the  cushions,  looking  at  him,  idly  inhaling 
the  hothouse  perfume. 

"  Why  have  you  so  ostentatiously  avoided  me,  Mr. 
Siward?  "  she  asked  languidly. 

"  Well,  upon  my  word !  "  he  said,  with  a  touch  of 
irritation. 

"  Oh,  you  are  so  dreadfully  literal!  "  she  shrugged, 
144 


A    WINNING   LOSER 


brushing  her  straight,  sensitive  nose  with  the  pink  blos 
som  ;  "  I  only  said  it  to  give  you  a  chance.  ...  If  you 
are  going  to  be  stupid,  good  night !  "  But  she  made  no 
movement  to  go.  ..."  Yes,  then ;  I  have  avoided  you. 
And  it  doesn't  become  you  to  ask  why." 

"  Because  I  kissed  you?  " 

"  You  hint  at  the  true  reason  so  chivalrously,  so  deli 
cately,"  she  said,  "  that  I  scarcely  recognise  it."  The 
cool  mockery  of  her  voice  and  the  warm,  quick  colour 
tinting  neck  and  face  were  incongruous.  He  thought 
with  slow  surprise  that  she  was  not  yet  letter-perfect  in 
her  role  of  the  material  triumphant  over  the  spiritual. 
A  trifle  ashamed,  too,  he  sat  silent,  watching  the  silken 
petals  fall  one  by  one  as  she  slowly  detached  them  with 
delicate,  restless  lips. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  came,"  she  said  reflectively.  "  You 
don't  know  why  I  came,  do  you?  Sheer  loneliness,  Mr. 
Siward;  there  is  something  of  the  child  in  me  still,  you 
see.  I  am  not  yet  sufficiently  resourceful  to  take  it  out 
in  a  quietly  tearful  obligate;  I  never  learned  how  to 
produce  tears.  ...  So  I  came  to  you."  She  had 
stripped  the  petals  from  the  rose,  and  now,  tossing  the 
crushed  branch  from  her,  she  leaned  forward  and 
broke  from  its  stem  a  heavy,  perfumed  bud,  half  un 
folded. 

"  It  seems  my  fate  to  pass  my  life  in  bidding  you 
good  night,"  she  said,  straightening  up  and  turning  to 
him  with  the  careless  laughter  touching  mouth  and  eyes 
again.  Then,  resting  her  weight  on  one  hand,  her 
smooth,  white  shoulder  rounded  beside  her  cheek,  she 
looked  at  him  out  of  humourous  eyes : 

"  What  is  it  that  women  find  so  attractive  in  you  ? 
The  man's  experienced  insouciance?  The  boy's  uncon 
scious  cynicism?  The  mystery  of  your  self-sufficiency ? 

145 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

The  faulty  humanity  in  you  ?  The  youth  in  you  already 
showing  traces  of  wear  that  hint  of  future  scars  ?  What 
will  you  be  at  thirty-five?  At  forty?  .  .  .  Ah,"  she 
added  softly,  "  what  are  you  now  ?  For  I  don't  know, 
and  you  cannot  tell  me  if  you  would.  .  .  .  Out  of  these 
little  windows  called  eyes  we  look  at  one  another,  and 
study  surfaces,  and  try  to  peep  into  neighbours'  windows. 
But  all  is  dark  behind  the  windows — always  dark,  in 
there  where  they  tell  us  souls  hide." 

She  laid  the  shell-pink  bud  against  her  cheek  that 
matched  it,  smiling  with  wise  sweetness  to  herself. 

"What  counts  with  you?"  he  asked  after  a  mo 
ment. 

"Counts?     How?" 

"In  your  affections.     What  prepossesses  you?" 

She  laughed  audaciously :  "  Your  traits — some  of 
them — all  of  them  that  you  reveal.  You  must  be  aware 
of  that  much  already,  considering  everything " 

"  Then,  what  is  it  I  lack?     Where  do  I  fail?  " 

"  But  you  don't  lack — you  don't  fail !  I  ask  noth 
ing  more  of  you,  Mr.  Siward." 

"  A  man  from  whom  a  woman  desires  nothing  is  al 
ready  convicted  of  insufficiency.  .  .  .  You  would  recog 
nise  this  very  quickly  if  I  made  love  to  you." 

"  Is  that  the  only  way  I  am  to  discover  your  insuf 
ficiency,  Mr.  Siward?  " 

"  Or  my  sufficiency.  .  .  .  Have  you  enough  curiosity 
to  try?" 

"  Oh !  I  thought  you  were  to  try."  Then,  quickly : 
"  But  I  think  you  have  already  experimented ;  and  I  did 
not  notice  your  shortcomings.  So  there  is  no  use  in 
pursuing  that  line  of  investigation  any  farther — is 
there?" 

And  always  with  her  the  mischief  lay  in  the  trailing 
146 


A    WINNING   LOSER 


upward  inflection ;  in  the  confused  sweetness  of  her  eyes, 
and  their  lovely  uncertainty. 

One  slim  white  hand  held  the  rose  against  her  cheek ; 
the  other  lay  idly  on  her  knee,  fresh  and  delicate  as  a 
fallen  petal ;  and  he  laid  both  hands  over  it  and  lifted  it 
between  them. 

"  Mr.  Siward,  I  am  afraid  this  is  becoming  a  habit 
with  you."  The  gay  mockery  was  not  quite  genuine; 
the  curve  of  lips  too  sensitive  for  a  voice  so  lightly 
cynical. 

He  smiled,  bending  there,  considering  her  hand  be 
tween  his ;  and  after  a  moment  her  muscles  relaxed,  and 
bare  round  arm  and  hand  lay  abandoned  to  him. 

"  Quite  flawless — perfect,"  he  said  aloud  to  himself. 

"  Do  you — read  hands  ?  " 

"Vaguely."  He  touched  the  smooth  palm: 
"  Long  life,  clear  mind,  and  " — he  laughed — "  heart  su 
preme  over  reason !  There  is  written  a  white  lie — but  a 
pretty  one." 

"  It  is  no  lie." 

He  laughed  again,  unconvinced. 

"  It  is  the  truth,"  she  said,  seriously  insisting  and 
bending  sideways  above  her  own  hand  where  it  lay  in  his. 
"  It  is  a  miserable  confession  to  admit  it,  but  I'm  afraid 
intelligence  would  fight  a  losing  battle  with  heart  if  the 
conflict  ever  came.  You  see,  I  know,  having  nobody  to 
study  except  myself  all  these  years.  .  .  .  There  is  the 
proof  of  it — that  selfish,  smooth  contour,  where  there 
should  be  generosity.  Then,  look  at  the  tendency  of 
imagination  toward  mischief !  "  She  laid  her  right  fore 
finger  on  the  palm  of  the  left  hand  which  he  held,  and 
traced  the  developments  arising  in  the  Mount  of  Hermes. 
"  Is  it  not  a  horrid  hand,  Mr.  Siward  ?  I  don't  know 
how  much  you  know  about  palms,  but — -"  She  suddenly 

147 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

flushed,  and  attempted  to  close  her  hand,  doubling  the 
thumb  over.  There  was  a  little  half-hearted  struggle, 
freeing  one  of  his  arms,  which  fell,  settling  about  her 
slender  waist ;  a  silence,  a  breathless  moment,  and  he  had 
kissed  her.  Her  lips  were  warm,  this  time. 

She  recovered  herself,  avoiding  his  eyes,  and  moved 
backward,  shielding  her  face  with  pretty  upflung  el 
bows  out-turned.  "  I  told  you  it  was  becoming  a  habit 
with  you !  "  The  loud  beating  of  her  pulses  marred 
her  voice.  "  Must  I  establish  a  dead-line  every  time  I 
commit  the  folly  of  being  alone  with  you  ?  " 

"  I'll  draw  that  line,"  he  said,  taking  her  in  his  arms. 

"  I — I  beg  you  will  draw  it  quickly,  Mr.  Siward." 

"I  do ;  it  passes  through  your  heart  and  mine !  " 

"  Is — do  you  mean  a  declaration — again?  You  are 
compromising  yourself,  you  know.  I  warn  you  that 
you  are  committing  yourself." 

"  So  are  you.     Look  at  me !  " 

In  his  arms,  her  own  arms  pressed  against  his  breast, 
resisting,  she  raised  her  splendid  youthful  eyes;  and 
through  and  through  her  shot  pulse  on  pulse,  until  every 
nerve  seemed  aquiver. 

"  While  I'm  still  sane,"  he  said  with  a  dry  catch  in 
his  throat,  "  before  I  tell  you  that  I  love  you,  look 
at  me." 

"  I  will,  if  you  wish,"  she  said  with  a  trembling 
smile,  "  but  it  is  useless " 

"  That  is  what  I  shall  find  out  in  time.  .  .  .  You 
must  meet  my  eyes.  That  is  well;  that  is  frank  and 
sweet " 

"  And  useless — truly  it  is.  ...  Please  don't  tell  me 
— anything." 

"You  will  not  listen?" 

"  There  is  no  chance  for  you — if  you  mean  love. 
148 


A    WINNING   LOSER 


I  —  I  tell  you  in  time,  you  see.  ...  I  am  utterly  frivo 
lous  —  quite  selfish  and  mercenary." 

"  I  take  my  chance  !  " 

"  No,  I  give  you  none  !  Why  do  you  interfere  !  A 
—  a  girl's  policy  costs  her  something  if  it  be  worth  any 
thing;  whatever  it  costs  it  is  worth  it  to  me.  .  .  .  And 
I  do  not  love  you.  In  so  short  a  time  how  could  I?  " 

Then  in  his  arms  she  fell  a-trembling.  Something 
blinded  her  eyes,  and  she  turned  her  head  sharply,  only 
to  encounter  his  lips  on  hers  in  a  deep,  clinging  embrace 
that  left  her  dazed,  still  resisting  with  the  fragments 
of  breath  and  voice. 

"  Not  again  —  I  beg  —  you.  Let  me  go  now.  It  is 
not  best.  Oh  !  truly,  truly  it  is  all  wrong  with  us  now." 
She  bent  her  head,  blinded  with  tears,  swaying,  stunned  ; 
then,  with  a  breathless  sound,  turned  in  his  arms  to  meet 
his  lips,  her  hands  contracting  in  his  ;  and,  confronting, 
they  paused,  suspending  the  crisis,  young  faces  close, 
and  hearts  afire. 

"  Sylvia,  I  love  you." 

For  an  instant  their  lips  clung;  she  had  rendered 
him  his  kiss.  Then,  tremblingly,  "  It  is  useless  .  .  . 
even  though  I  loved  you." 

"Say  it!" 

"  I  do." 


"  I  —  I  cannot  !  .  .  .  And  it  is  no  use  —  no  use  !  I 
do  not  know  myself  —  this  way.  My  eyes  —  are  wet.  It 
is  not  like  me;  there  is  nothing  of  me  in  this  girl  you 
hold  so  closely,  so  confidently.  ...  I  do  care  for  you  — 
how  can  I  help  it?  How  could  any  woman  help  it?  Is 
not  that  enough  ?  " 

"  Until  you  are  a  bride,  yes." 

"  A  bride?     Stephen  !—  I  cannot  -  " 
149 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  You  cannot  help  it,  Sylvia." 

"  I  must !     I  have  my  way  to  go." 

"  My  way  lies  that  way." 

"  No !  no !  I  cannot  do  it ;  it  is  not  best  for  me — 
not  best  for  you.  ...  I  do  care  for  you;  you  have 
taught  me  how  to  say  it.  But — you  know  what  I  have 
done — and  mean  to  do,  and  must  carry  through.  .  .  . 
Then,  how  can  you  love  a  girl  like  that?  " 

"  Dear,  I  know  the  woman  I  love." 

"  Silly,  she  is  what  her  life  has  made  her — material, 
passionately  selfish,  unable  to  renounce  the  root  of  all 
evil.  .  .  .  Even  if  this — this  happiness  were  ours  al 
ways — I  mean,  if  this  madness  could  last  our  wedded 
life — I  am  not  good  enough,  not  noble  enough,  to  for 
get  what  I  might  have  had,  and  put  away.  ...  Is  it 
not  dreadful  to  admit  it?  Do  you  not  know  that  self- 
contempt  is  part  of  the  price?  ...  I  have  no  money. 
I  know  what  you  have.  ...  I  asked.  And  it  is  enough 
for  a  man  who  remains  unmarried.  .  .  .  For  I  cannot 
'  make  things  do  ' ;  I  cannot  '  contrive  ' ;  I  will  not  cling 
to  the  fringe  of  things,  or  play  that  heartbreaking  role 
of  the  shabby  expatriated  on  the  Continent.  .  .  .  No 
person  in  this  world  ever  had  enough.  I  tell  you  I  could 
find  use  for  every  flake  of  metal  ever  mined!  .  .  .  You 
see  you  do  not  know  me.  From  my  pretty  face  and 
figure  you  misjudge  me.  I  am  intelligent — not  intel 
lectual,  though  I  might  have  been,  might  even  be  yet. 
I  am  cultivated,  not  learned ;  though  I  care  for  learning 
— or  might,  if  I  had  time.  .  .  .  My  role  in  life  is  to 
mount  to  a  security  too  high  for  any  question  as  to  my 
dominance.  .  .  .  Can  you  take  me  there  ?  " 

"  There  are  other  heights,  Sylvia." 

"Higher?" 

"  Yes,  dear." 

150 


• 


A    WINNING   LOSER 


"  The  spiritual ;  I  know.  I  could  not  breathe  there, 
if  I  cared  to  climb.  .  .  .  And  I  have  told  you  what  I 
am — all  silk  and  lace  and  smooth-skinned  selfishness." 
She  looked  at  him  wistfully.  "  If  you  can  change  me, 
take  me."  And  she  rose,  facing  him. 

"  I  do  not  give  you  up,"  he  said,  with  a  savage  note 
hardening  his  voice;  and  it  thrilled  her  to  hear  it,  and 
every  drop  of  blood  in  her  body  leaped  as  she  yielded 
to  his  arms  again,  heavy-lidded,  trembling,  confused, 
under  the  piercing  sweetness  of  contact. 

The  perfume  of  her  mouth,  her  hair,  the  consenting 
fingers  locked  in  his,  palm  against  palm,  the  lips,  ac 
quiescent,  then  afire  at  last,  responsive  to  his  own;  and 
her  eyes  opening  from  the  dream  under  the  white  lids — 
these  were  what  he  had  of  her  till  every  vein  in  him 
pulsed  flame.  Then  her  voice,  broken,  breathless : 

"  Good  night.  Love  me  while  you  can — and  forgive 
me!  .  .  .  Good  night.  .  .  .  Where  are  we?  All — all 
this  must  have  stunned  me,  blinded  me.  ...  Is  this  my 
door,  or  yours?  Hush!  I  am  half  dead  with  fear — to 
be  here  under  the  light  again.  ...  If  you  take  me 
again,  my  knees  will  give  way.  .  .  .  And  I  must  find 
my  door.  Oh,  the  ghastly  imprudence  of  it !  .  .  .  Good 
night  .  .  .  good  night.  I — I  love  you !  " 


11  151 


CHAPTER   VI 

MODUS    VIVENDI 

AFTER  the  first  few  days  of  his  arrival  at  Shotover 
time  had  threatened  to  hang  heavily  on  Mortimer's  mot 
tled  hands.  After  the  second  day  afield  he  recognised 
that  his  shooting  career  was  practically  over;  he  had 
become  too  bulky  during  the  last  year  to  endure  the 
physical  exertion ;  his  habits,  too,  had  at  length  made 
traitors  of  his  eyes ;  a  half  hour's  snipe-shooting  in  the 
sun,  and  the  veins  in  his  neck  swelled  ominously.  Pant 
ing,  eyes  inflamed,  fat  arms  wobbly,  he  had  scored  miss 
after  miss,  and  laboured  onward,  sullenly  persistent  to 
the  end.  But  it  was  the  end.  That  cup  day  finished 
him ;  he  recognised  that  he  was  done  for.  And,  follow 
ing  the  Law  of  Pleasure,  which  finishes  us  before  we 
are  finished  with  it,  he  did  not  experience  any  particular 
sense  of  deprivation  in  the  prospect.  Only  the  whole 
some  dread  caging.  But  Mortimer,  not  yet  done  with 
self-indulgence  in  more  convenient  forms,  cast  about 
him  within  his  new  limits  for  occupation  between  those 
hours  consecrated  to  the  rites  of  the  table  and  the 
card-room. 

He  drove  four,  but  found  that  it  numbed  his  arms, 
and  that  the  sea  air  made  him  sleepy.  Motor-cars 
agreed  with  him  only  when  driving  with  a  pretty  woman. 
Forced  through  ennui  to  fish  off  the  rocks,  he  soon  tired 
of  the  sea-perch  and  rock-cod  and  the  malodours  of 
periwinkle  and  clam. 

152 


MODUS    VIVENDI 


Then  he  frankly  took  to  Major  Belwether's  sunny 
side  of  the  gun-room,  with  illustrated  papers  and  ap 
ples  and  decanter.  But  Major  Belwether,  always  as 
careful  of  his  digestion  as  of  his  financial  secrets,  blandly 
dodged  the  pressing  invitations  to  rum  and  confidence, 
until  Mortimer  sulkily  took  up  his  headquarters  in  the 
reading-room,  on  the  chance  of  his  wife's  moving  else 
where.  Which  she  did,  unobtrusively  carrying  Captain 
Voucher  with  her  in  a  sudden  zeal  for  billiard  practice 
on  rainy  mornings  now  too  frequent  along  the  coast. 

Mortimer  possessed  that  mysterious  talent,  so  com 
mon  among  the  financially  insolvent,  for  living  lavishly 
on  an  invisible  income.  But,  plan  as  he  would,  he  had 
never  been  able  to  increase  that  income  through  confi 
dential  gossip  with  men  like  Quarrier  or  Belwether,  or 
even  Ferrall.  What  information  his  pretty  wife  might 
have  extracted  he  did  not  know;  her  income  had  never 
visibly  increased  above  the  vanishing  point,  although, 
like  himself,  she  denied  herself  nothing.  One  short, 
lively  interview  with  her  had  been  enough  to  drive  all 
partnership  ideas  out  of  his  head.  If  he  wanted  to  learn 
anything  financially  advantageous  to  himself  he  must 
do  it  without  her  aid ;  and  as  he  was  perpetually  in  hopes 
of  the  friendly  hint  that  never  came,  he  still  moused 
about  when  opportunity  offered;  and  this  also  helped 
to  kill  time. 

Besides,  he  was  always  studying  women.  Years  be 
fore,  Grace  Ferrall  had  snapped  her  slim  fingers  in  his 
face ;  and  here,  at  Shotover,  the  field  was  limited.  Mrs. 
Vendenning  had  left ;  Agatha  Caithness  was  still  a  pale 
and  reticent  puzzle;  Rena,  Katharyn,  and  Eileen  tor 
mented  him ;  Marion  Page,  coolly  au  fait,  yawned  in  his 
face.  There  remained  Sylvia,  who,  knowing  nothing 
about  his  species,  met  him  half-way  with  the  sweet  and 

153 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

sensitive  deference  due  a  somewhat  battered  and  infirm 
gentleman  of  forty-eight — until  a  sleek  aside  from 
Major  Belwether  spoiled  everything,  as  usual,  for  her, 
leaving  her  painfully  conscious  and  perplexed  between 
doubt  and  disgust. 

Meanwhile,  the  wealthy  master  of  Black  Fells,  Bev 
erly  Plank,  had  found  encouragement  enough  at  Shot- 
over  to  venture  on  tentative  informality.  There  was  no 
doubt  that  ultimately  he  must  be  counted  on  in  New 
York ;  but  nobody  except  he  was  impatiently  cordial  for 
the  event;  and  so,  at  the  little  house  party,  he  slipped 
and  slid  from  every  attempt  at  closer  quarters,  until, 
rolling  smoothly  enough,  he  landed  without  much  dis 
comfort  somewhere  between  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leroy  Mor 
timer.  And  it  was  not  a  question  as  to  "  which  would 
be  good  to  him,"  observed  Major  Belwether,  with  his 
misleading  and  benevolent  mirth ;  "  it  was,  which  would 
be  goodest  quickest !  " 

And  Mrs.  Mortimer,  abandoning  Captain  Voucher 
by  the  same  token,  displayed  certain  warning  notices 
perfectly  comprehensive  to  her  husband.  And  at  first 
he  was  inclined  to  recognise  defeat. 

But  the  general  insuccess  which  had  so  faithfully 
attended  him  recently  had  aroused  the  long-dormant 
desire  for  a  general  review  of  the  situation  with  his  wife 
— perhaps  even  the  furtive  hope  of  some  conjugal  ar 
rangement  tending  toward  an  exchange  of  views  con 
cerning  possible  alliance. 

The  evening  previous,  to  his  intense  disgust,  host, 
hostess,  and  guests  had  retired  early,  in  view  of  the 
point-shooting  at  dawn.  For  not  only  was  there  to  be 
no  point-shooting  for  him,  but  he  had  risen  from  the 
card-table  heavily  hit ;  and  besides,  for  the  first  time  his 
apples  and  port  had  disagreed  with  him. 

154 


MODUS    VIVENDI 


As  he  had  not  risen  until  mid-day  he  was  not  sleepy. 
Books  were  an  aversion  equalled  only  by  distaste  for  his 
own  company.  Irritated,  bored,  he  had  perforce  sulkily 
entered  the  elevator  and  passed  to  his  room,  where  there 
was  nothing  on  earth  for  him  to  do  except  to  thumb  over 
last  week's  sporting  periodicals  and  smoke  himself  stupid. 

But  it  required  more  than  that  to  ensnare  the  goddess 
of  slumber.  He  walked  about  the  room,  haunted  of  slow 
thoughts ;  he  stood  at  the  rain-smeared  pane,  fat  fingers 
resting  on  the  glass.  The  richly  flavoured  cigar  grew 
distasteful;  and  if  he  could  not  smoke,  what,  in  pity's 
name,  was  he  to  do  ? 

Involuntarily  his  distended  eyes  wandered  to  his 
wife's  locked  and  bolted  door ;  then  he  thought  of  Bev 
erly  Plank,  and  his  own  failure  to  fasten  himself  upon 
that  anxiously  over-cordial  individual  with  his  houses 
and  his  villas  and  his  yachts  and  his  investments ! 

He  stepped  to  the  switch  and  extinguished  the  lights 
in  his  room.  Under  the  door,  along  the  sill,  a  glimmer 
came  from  his  wife's  bed-chamber.  He  listened;  the 
maid  was  still  there;  so  he  sat  down  in  the  darkness  to 
wait;  and  by-and-by  he  heard  the  outer  bedroom  door 
close,  and  the  subdued  rustle  of  the  departing  maid. 

Then,  turning  on  his  lights,  he  moved  ponderously 
and  jauntily  to  his  wife's  door  and  knocked  discreetly. 

Leila  Mortimer  came  to  the  door  and  opened  it ;  her 
hair  was  coiled  for  the  night,  her  pretty  figure  outlined 
under  a  cascade  of  clinging  lace. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  asked  quietly. 

"  Are  you  point-shooting  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  wanted  to  chat  with  you." 

"  I'm  sorry.  I'm  driving  to  Wenniston,  after  break 
fast,  with  Beverly  Plank,  and  I  need  sleep." 

155 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  he  repeated  doggedly. 

She  regarded  him  for  a  moment  in  silence,  then,  with 
an  assenting  gesture,  turned  away  into  her  room ;  and  he 
followed,  heavily  apprehensive  but  resolved. 

She  had  seated  herself  among  a  pile  of  cushions,  one 
knee  crossed  over  the  other,  her  slim  white  foot  half  con 
cealed  by  the  silken  toe  of  her  slipper.  And  as  he 
pulled  a  chair  forward  for  himself,  her  pretty  black  eyes, 
which  slanted  a  little,  took  his  measure  and  divined 
trouble. 

"  Leila,"  he  said,  "  why  can't  we  have " 

"A  cigarette?"  she  interrupted,  indicating  her 
dainty  case  on  the  table. 

He  took  one,  savagely  aware  of  defiance  somewhere. 
She  lighted  her  own  from  a  candle  and  settled  back, 
studying  the  sequence  of  blue  smoke-rings  j  etting  upward 
to  the  ceiling. 

"  About  this  man  Plank,"  he  began,  louder  than  he 
had  intended  through  sheer  self-mistrust;  and  his  wife 
made  a  quick,  disdainful  sign  of  caution,  which  sub 
dued  his  voice  instantly.  "  Why  can't  we  take  him  up 
— together,  Leila?  "  he  ended  lamely,  furious  at  his 
own  uneasiness  in  a  matter  which  might  concern  him 
vitally. 

"  I  see  no  necessity  of  your  taking  him  up,"  observed 
his  wife  serenely.  "  I  can  do  what  may  be  useful  to 
him  in  town." 

"  So  can  I.  There  are  clubs  where  he  ought  to  be 
seen " 

"  I  can  manage  such  matters  much  better." 

"  You  can't  manage  everything,"  he  insisted  sullenly. 
"  There  are  chances  of  various  sorts " 

"Investments?"  asked  Mrs.  Mortimer,  with  bright 
malice. 

156 


MODUS    VIVENDI 


"  See  here,  Leila,  you  have  your  own  way  too  much. 
I  say  little;  I  make  damned  few  observations;  but  I 
could,  if  I  cared  to.  ...  It  becomes  you  to  be  civil  at 
least.  I  want  to  talk  over  this  Plank  matter  with  you ; 
I  want  you  to  listen,  too." 

A  shade  of  faint  disgust  passed  over  her  face.  "  I 
am  listening,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  then,  I  can  see  several  ways  in  which  the 
man  can  be  of  use  to  me.  ...  I  discovered  him  before 
you  did,  anyway.  And  what  I  want  to  do  is  to  have  a 
frank,  honourable " 

"  A— what  ?  " 

" — An  honourable  understanding  with  you,  I  said," 
he  repeated,  reddening. 

"  Oh !  "  She  snapped  her  cigarette  into  the  grate. 
"  Oh !  I  see.  And  what  then?  " 

"What  then?" 

"Yes;  what  then?" 

"  Why,  you  and  I  can  arrange  to  stand  behind  him 
this  winter  in  town,  can't  we?  " 

"And  then?" 

"  Then — damn  it ! — the  beggar  can  show  his  grati 
tude,  can't  he?" 

"  How?  "  she  asked  listlessly. 

"By  making  good.  How  else?"  he  retorted  sav 
agely.  "  He  can't  welch  because  there's  little  to  climb 
for  beyond  us ;  and  even  if  he  climbs,  he  can't  ignore  us. 
I  can  do  as  many  things  for  him  in  my  way  as  you  can 
in  yours.  What  is  the  use  of  being  a  pig,  Leila?  Any 
thing  he  does  for  me  isn't  going  to  cancel  his  obligations 
to  you." 

"  I  know  him  better  than  you  do,"  she  observed,  bend 
ing  her  head  and  pleating  the  lace  on  her  knee.  "  There 
is  Dutch  blood  in  him." 

157 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 


"  Not  good  Hollander,  but  common  Dutch,"  sneered 
Mortimer.  "  And  you  mean  he'll  squeeze  a  dollar  till 
the  eagle  screams — don't  you?  " 

She  sat  silent,  pleating  her  lace  with  steady  fingers. 

"  Well,  that's  all  right,  too,"  laughed  Mortimer 
easily ;  "  let  the  Audubon  Society  worry  over  the  eagle. 
It's  a  perfectly  plain  business  proposition ;  we  can  do  for 
him  in  a  couple  of  winters  what  he  can't  do  for  himself 
in  ten.  Figure  it  out  for  yourself,  Leila,"  he  said, 
waving  a  mottled  fat  hand  at  her. 

"  I — have,"  she  said  under  her  breath. 

"Then,  is  it  settled?" 

"Settled— how?" 

"  That  we  form  ourselves  into  a  benevolent  society 
of  two  in  behalf  of  Plank?  " 

"  I — I  don't  want  to,  Roy,"  she  said  slowly. 

"Why  not?" 

She  did  not  say  why  not,  seated  there  nervously 
pleating  the  fragile  stuff  clinging  to  her  knee. 

"Why  not?"  he  repeated  menacingly.  Her  unex 
pectedly  quiescent  attitude  had  emboldened  him  to  a 
bullying  tone — something  he  had  not  lately  ventured 
on. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his :  "  I — rather  like  him," 
she  said  quietly. 

"  Then,  by  God!  he'll  pay  for  that!  "  he  burst  out, 
mask  off,  every  inflamed  feature  shockingly  con 
gested. 

«  Roy  !     You  dare  not " 

"  I  tell  you  I " 

"You  dare  not!" 

The  palpitating  silence  lengthened ;  slowly  the  blood 
left  the  swollen  veins.  Heavy  pendulous  lip  hanging, 
he  stared  at  her  from  distended  eyes,  realising  that  he 

158 


MODUS    VIVENDI 


had  forgotten  himself.  She  was  right.  He  dared  not. 
And  she  held  the  whip-hand  as  usual. 

For  every  suspicion  he  could  entertain,  she  had  evi 
dence  of  a  certainty  to  match  it;  for  every  chance  that 
he  might  have  to  prove  anything,  she  had  twenty  proven 
facts.  And  he  knew  it.  Why  they  had,  during  all 
these  years,  made  any  outward  pretence  of  conjugal 
unity  they  alone  knew.  The  modus  vivendi  suited  them 
better  than  divorce;  that  was  apparent,  or  had  been 
until  recently.  Recently  Leila  Mortimer  had  changed 
— become  subdued  and  softened  to  a  degree  that  had  per 
plexed  her  husband.  Her  attitude  toward  him  lacked  a 
little  of  the  bitterness  and  contempt  she  usually  reserved 
for  him  in  private ;  she  had  become  more  prudent,  almost 
cautious  at  times. 

"  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,"  he  said  with  a  sudden 
snarl :  "  You'd  better  be  careful  there  is  no  gossip  about 
you  and  Plank." 

She  reddened  under  the  insult. 

"  Now  we'll  see,"  he  continued  venomously,  "  how 
far  you  can  go  alone." 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  she  asked  calmly,  "  that  I  am 
afraid  of  a  divorce  court  ?  " 

The  question  so  frankly  astonished  him  that  he 
sat  agape,  unable  to  reply.  For  years  he  had  very 
naturally  supposed  her  to  be  afraid  of  it — afraid  of  not 
being  qualified  to  obtain  it.  Indeed,  he  had  taken  that 
for  granted  as  the  very  corner-stone  of  their  mutual  tol 
eration.  Had  he  been  an  ass  to  do  so  ?  A  vague  alarm 
took  possession  of  him;  for,  with  that  understanding,  he 
had  not  been  at  all  careful  of  his  own  behaviour,  neither 
had  he  been  at  any  particular  pains  to  conceal  his  doings 
from  her.  His  alarm  increased.  What  had  he  against 
her,  after  all,  except  ancient  suspicions,  now  so  con- 

159 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

fused  and  indefinite  that  memory  itself  outlawed  the 
case,  if  it  ever  really  existed.  What  had  she  against 
him?  Facts — unless  she  was  more  stupid  than  any  of 
her  sex  he  had  ever  encountered.  And  now,  this  defi 
ance,  this  increasing  prudence,  this  subtle  change  in  her, 
began  to  make  him  anxious  for  the  permanency  of  the 
small  income  she  had  allowed  him  during  all  these  years — 
doled  out  to  him,  as  he  believed,  though  her  dormant 
fear  of  him. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about?  "  he  said  harshly. 

"  I  believe  I  mentioned  divorce." 

"Well,  cut  it  out!  D'ye  see?  Cut  it,  I  say. 
You'd  stand  as  much  chance  before  a  referee  as  a  snow 
ball  in  hell" 

"  There's  no  telling,"  she  said  coolly,  "  until  one 
tries." 

He  glared  at  her,  then  burst  into  a  laugh.  "  Rot !  " 
he  said  thickly.  "  Talk  sense,  Leila !  And  keep  this 
hard-headed  Dutchman  for  yourself,  if  you  feel  that 
way  about  it.  I  don't  want  to  butt  in.  I  only  thought 
— for  old  times'  sake — perhaps  you'd " 

"  Good  night,"  she  managed  to  say,  her  disgust  al 
most  strangling  her. 

And  he  went,  furtively,  heavy-footed,  perplexed,  in 
wardly  cursing  his  blunder  in  stirring  up  a  sleeping 
lioness  whom  he  had  so  long  mistaken  for  a  dozing  cat. 

For  hours  he  sat  in  his  room,  or  paced  the  four  walls, 
doubtful,  chagrined,  furious  by  turns.  Once  he  drew  out 
a  memorandum-book  and  stood  under  a  lighted  sconce, 
studying  the  figures.  His  losses  at  Shotover  staggered 
him,  but  he  had  looked  to  his  wife  heretofore  in  such 
emergencies. 

Certainly  the  time  had  come  for  him  to  do  something. 
But  what? — if  his  wife  was  going  to  strike  such  atti- 

160 


MODUS    VIVENDI 


tudes  in  the  very  face  of  decency?  Certainly  a  hus 
band  in  these  days  was  without  honour  in  his  own 
household. 

His  uneasiness  had  produced  a  raging  thirst.  He 
punched  an  electric  button  with  his  fleshy  thumb,  and 
prowled  around,  waiting.  Nobody  came;  he  punched 
again,  and  looked  at  his  watch.  It  astonished  him  to 
find  the  hour  was  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  That 
discovery,  however,  only  appeared  to  increase  his  thirst. 
He  opened  the  hall  door,  prepared  to  descend  into  the 
depths  of  the  house  and  raid  a  sideboard;  and  as  he 
thrust  his  heavy  head  out  into  the  lighted  corridor  his 
eyes  fell  upon  two  figures  standing  at  the  open  door  of  a 
bedroom.  One  was  Siward;  that  was  plain.  Who 
was  the  girl  he  had  kissed  ?  One  of  the  maids  ?  Some 
body's  wife?  Who? 

Every  dull  pulse  began  to  hammer  in  Mortimer's 
head.  In  his  excitement  he  stepped  half-way  into  the 
corridor,  then  skipped  nimbly  back,  closing  his  door 
without  a  sound. 

"  Sylvia  Landis,  by  all  that's  holy !  "  he  breathed  to 
himself,  and  sat  down  rather  suddenly  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed. 

After  a  while  he  rose  and  crept  to  the  door,  opened  it, 
glued  his  eyes  to  the  crack,  in  time  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
Siward  entering  his  own  corridor  alone. 

And  that  night,  Mortimer,  lying  awake  in  bed,  busy 
with  schemes,  became  conscious  of  a  definite  idea.  It 
took  shape  and  matured  so  suddenly  that  it  actually 
shocked  his  moral  sense.  Then  it  scared  him. 

"  But — but  that  is  blackmail !  "  he  whispered  aloud. 
"  A  man  can't  do  that  sort  of  thing.  What  the  devil 
ever  put  it  into  my  head?  .  .  .  And  there  are  men  I 
know — women,  too — scoundrelly  blackguards,  who'd  use 

161  " 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

that  information  somehow;  and  make  it  pay,  too.  .  .  . 
The  scoundrels ! " 

He  squirmed  down  among  the  bedclothes  with  a  sud 
den  shiver;  but  the  night  had  turned  warm. 

"  Scoundrels ! "  he  said,  with  milder  emphasis. 
"  Blackmailers !  Contemptible  pups !  " 

He  fell  asleep  an  hour  later,  muttering  something 
incoherent  about  scoundrels  and  blackmail. 

And  meanwhile,  in  the  darkened  house,  from  all  round 
came  the  noise  of  knocking  on  doors,  sounds  of  people 
stirring — a  low  voice  here  and  there,  lights  breaking  out 
from  transoms,  the  thud  of  rubber-shod  heels,  the  rattle 
of  cartridges  from  the  echoing  gun-room.  For  the 
guests  at  Shotover  were  awaking,  lest  the  wet  sky,  white 
ning  behind  the  east,  ring  with  the  whimpering  wedges  of 
wild-fowl  rushing  seaward  over  empty  blinds. 

The  unusual  stillness  of  the  house  in  the  late  morn 
ing  sunshine  was  pleasant  to  Miss  Landis.  She  had 
risen  very  late,  unconscious  of  the  stir  and  movement 
before  dawn ;  and  it  was  only  when  a  maid  told  her,  as 
she  came  from  her  bath,  that  she  remembered  the  pro 
jected  point-shooting,  and  concluded,  with  an  odd,  happy 
sense  of  relief,  that  she  was  almost  alone  in  the  house. 

A  little  later,  glancing  from  her  bedroom  window  for 
a  fulfilment  of  the  promise  of  the  sun  which  a  glimpse 
of  blue  sky  heralded,  she  saw  Leila  Mortimer  settling 
herself  in  the  forward  seat  of  a  Mercedes,  and  Beverly 
Plank  climbing  in  beside  her ;  and  she  watched  Plank  steer 
the  big  machine  across  the  wet  lawn,  while  the  machinist 
swung  himself  into  the  tonneau;  and  away  they  rolled, 
faster,  faster,  rushing  out  into  the  misty  hinterland, 
where  the  long  streak  of  distant  forest  already  began  to 
brighten,  edged  with  the  first  rays  of  watery  sunshine. 

162 


MODUS    VIVENDI 


So  she  had  the  big  house  to  herself — every  bit  of  it ! — 
and  with  it  freedom  from  obligation,  from  comment,  from 
demand  or  exaction;  freedom  from  restraint;  liberty 
to  roam  about,  to  read,  to  dream,  to  idle,  to  remember ! 
Ah,  that  was  what  she  needed — a  quiet  interval  in  this 
hurrying  youth  of  hers  to  catch  her  breath  once  more, 
and  stand  still,  and  look  back  a  day  or  two  and  remember. 

So,  to  breakfast  all  alone  was  delicious ;  to  stroll,  un 
hurried,  to  the  sideboard  and  leisurely  choose  among  the 
fresh  cool  fruits;  to  loiter  over  cream- jug  and  cereal;  to 
saunter  out  into  the  freshness  of  the  world  and  breathe 
it,  and  feel  the  sun  warming  cheek  and  throat,  and  the 
little  breezes  from  a  sunlit  sea  stirring  the  bright  strands 
of  her  hair. 

In  the  increasing  brilliancy  of  the  sunshine  she 
stretched  out  her  hands,  warming  them  daintily  as  she 
might  twist  them  before  the  fire  on  the  hearth.  And 
here,  at  the  fragrant  hearth  of  the  world,  she  stood, 
sweet  and  fresh  as  the  morning  itself,  untroubled  gaze 
intensely  blue  with  the  tint  of  the  purple  sea,  sensitive 
lips  scarcely  parting  in  the  dreaming  smile  that  made 
her  eyes  more  wonderful. 

As  the  warmth  grew  on  land  and  water,  penetrating 
her  body,  a  faintly  delicious  glow  responded  in  her  heart, 
— nothing  at  first  wistful  in  the  serene  sense  of  well- 
being,  stretching  her  rounded  arms  skyward  in  the  un 
accustomed  luxury  of  a  liberty  which  had  become  the 
naively  unconscious  licence  of  a  child.  The  poise  of  sheer 
health  stretched  her  to  tiptoe ;  then  the  graceful  tension 
relaxed,  and  her  smooth  fingers  uncurled,  tightened,  and 
fell  limp  as  her  arms  fell  and  her  superb  young  figure 
straightened,  confronting  the  sea. 

Out  over  the  rain-wet,  odorous  grass  she  picked  her 
way,  skirts  swung  high  above  the  delicate  contour  of 

163 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

ankle  and  limb,  following  a  little  descending  path  she 
knew  full  of  rocky  angles,  swept  by  pendant  sprays  of 
blackberry,  and  then  down  under  the  jutting  rock,  south 
through  thickets  of  wild  cherry  along  the  crags,  until, 
before  her  the  way  opened  downward  again  where  a 
tiny  crescent  beach  glimmered  white  hot  in  the  sun. 

From  his  bedroom  window  Mortimer  peeped  forth, 
following  her  progress  with  a  leer. 

As  she  descended,  noticing  the  rifts  of  bronzing  sea 
weed  piled  along  the  tide  mark,  her  foot  dislodged  a  tiny 
triangle  of  rock,  which  rolled  clattering  and  ringing 
below;  and  as  she  sprang  lightly  to  the  sand,  a  man, 
lying  full  length  and  motionless  as  the  heaped  sea-weed, 
raised  himself  on  one  arm,  turning  his  sun-dazzled  eyes 
on  her. 

The  dull  shock  of  surprise  halted  her  as  Siward  rose 
to  his  feet,  still  dazed,  the  sand  running  from  his  brown 
shooting-clothes  over  his  tightly  strapped  puttees. 

"  Have  you  the  faintest  idea  that  I  supposed  you 
were  here?  "  she  asked  briefly.  Then,  frank  in  her  dis 
appointment,  she  looked  up  at  the  cliffs  overhead,  where 
her  line  of  retreat  lay. 

"  Why  did  you  not  go  with  the  others?  "  she  added, 
unsmiling. 

"  I — don't  know.  I  will,  if  you  wish."  He  had  col 
oured  slowly,  the  frank  disappointment  in  her  face  pene 
trating  his  surprise ;  and  now  he  turned  around,  instinc 
tively,  also  looking  for  the  path  of  retreat. 

"  Wait,"  she  said,  aware  of  her  own  crude  attitude 
and  confused  by  it ;  "  wait  a  moment,  Mr.  Siward.  I 
don't  mean  to  drive  you  away." 

"  It's  self-exile,"  he  said  quietly ;  "  quite  voluntary, 
I  assure  you." 

"Mr.  Siward!" 

164 


MODUS    VIVENDI 


And,  as  he  looked  up  coolly,  "  Have  you  nothing 
more  friendly  to  say  to  me?  Is  your  friendship  for  me 
so  limited  that  my  first  caprice  oversteps  the  bounds? 
Must  I  always  be  in  dread  of  wounding  you  when  I  give 
you  the  privilege  of  knowing  me  better  than  anybody  ever 
knew  me — of  seeing  me  as  I  am,  with  all  my  faults,  my 
failings,  my  impulses,  my  real  self?  ...  I  don't  know 
why  the  pleasure  of  being  alone  to-day  should  have 
meant  exclusion  for  you,  too.  It  was  the  unwelcome 
shock  of  seeing  anybody — a  selfish  enjoyment  of  myself 
— that  surprised  me  into  rudeness.  That  is  all.  .  .  . 
Can  you  not  understand  ?  " 

"  I  think  so.    I  meant  no  criticism " 

"  Wait,  Mr.  Siward !  "  as  he  moved  slowly  toward  the 
path.  "  You  force  me  to  say  other  things,  which  you 
have  no  right  to  hear.  .  .  .  After  last  night " — the 
vivid  tint  grew  in  her  face — "  after  such  a  night,  is  it 
not — natural — for  a  girl  to  creep  off  somewhere  by  her 
self  and  try  to  think  a  little?  " 

He  had  turned  full  on  her;  the  answering  colour 
crept  to  his  forehead. 

"  Is  that  why?  "  he  asked  slowly. 

"  Is  it  not  a  reason  ?  " 

"  It  was  my  reason — for  being  here." 

She  bit  her  bright  lip.  This  trend  to  the  conversa 
tion  was  ominous,  and  she  had  meant  to  do  her  drifting 
alone  in  still  sun-dreams,  fearing  no  witness,  no  testi 
mony,  no  judgment  save  her  own  self  in  court  with 
herself. 

"  I — I  suppose  you  cannot  go — now"  she  reflected 
innocently. 

"  Indeed  I  can,  and  must." 

"  And  leave  me  here  to  dig  in  the  sand  with  my 
heels?  Merci!" 

165 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

"  Do  you  mean " 

"  I  certainly  do,  Mr.  Siward.  I  don't  want  to  dream, 
now;  I  don't  care  to  reflect.  I  did,  but  here  you  come 
blundering  into  my  private  world  and  upset  my  calcula 
tions  and  change  my  intentions !  It's  a  shame,  especially 
as  you've  been  lying  here  doing  what  I  wished  to  do  for 
goodness  knows  how  long !  " 

"  I'm  going,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  curiously. 

"  Then  you  are  very  selfish,  Mr.  Siward." 

"  We  will  call  it  that,"  he  said  with  an  odd  laugh. 

"  Very  well."  She  seated  herself  on  the  sand  and 
calmly  shook  out  her  skirts. 

"  About  what  time  would  you  like  to  be  called  ?  "  he 
asked  smilingly. 

"  Thank  you,  I  shall  do  no  sun-dreaming." 

"  Please.     It  is  good  for  you." 

"  No,  it  isn't  good  at  all.  And  I  am  grateful  to  you 
for  waking  me,"  she  retorted  with  a  sudden  gay  malice 
that  subdued  him.  And  she,  delicate  nose  in  the  air, 
laughingly  watching  him,  went  on  with  her  punishment : 
"  You  see  what  you've  done,  don't  you  ? — saved  me  from 
an  entire  morning  wasted  in  sentimental  reverie  over  what 
might  have  been.  Now  you  can  appreciate  it,  can't 
you? — your  wisdom  in  appearing  in  the  flesh  to  save  a 
silly  girl  the  effort  of  evoking  you  in  the  spirit!  Ah, 
Mr.  Siward,  I  am  vastly  obliged  to  you !  Pray  sit  here 
beside  me  in  the  flesh,  for  fear  that  in  your  absence  I 
might  commit  the  folly  that  tempted  me  here." 

His  low  running  laughter  accompanying  her  voice 
had  stimulated  her  to  a  gay  audacity,  which  for  the  in 
stant  extinguished  in  her  the  little  fear  of  him  she  had 
been  barely  conscious  of. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  that  you  also  aroused  me 
from  my  sun-dreams  ?  " 

166 


MODUS    VIVENDI 


"  Did  I  ?     And  can't  you  resume  them  ?  " 

"  You  save  me  the  necessity." 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  second-hand  compliment,"  she  said 
disdainfully — "  a  weak  plagiarism  on  what  I  conveyed 
very  wittily.  You  were  probably  really  asleep,  and 
dreaming  of  bird-murder." 

He  waited  for  her  to  finish,  then,  amused  eyes  search 
ing,  he  roamed  about  until  high  on  a  little  drifted  sand 
dune  he  found  a  place  for  himself ;  and  while  she  watched 
him  indignantly,  he  curled  up  in  the  sunshine,  and,  drop 
ping  his  head  on  the  hot  sand,  calmly  closed  his  eyes. 

"  Upon — my — word !  "  she  breathed  aloud. 

He  unclosed  his  eyes.  "  Now  you  may  dream ;  you 
can't  avoid  it,"  he  observed  lazily,  and  closed  his  eyes; 
and  neither  taunts  nor  jeers  nor  questions,  nor  frag 
ments  of  shells  flung  with  intent  to  hit,  stirred  him  from 
his  immobility. 

She  tired  of  the  attempt  presently,  and  sat  silent, 
elbows  on  her  thighs,  hands  propping  her  chin. 
Thoughts,  vague  as  the  fitful  breeze,  arose,  lingered,  and, 
like  the  breeze,  faded,  dissolved  into  calm,  through  which, 
cadenced  by  the  far  beat  of  the  ebb  tide,  her  heart  ech 
oed,  beating  the  steady  intervals  of  time. 

She  had  not  meant  to  dream,  but  as  she  sat  there, 
the  fine-spun  golden  threads  flying  from  the  whirling 
loom  of  dreams  floated  about  her,  settling  over  her,  en 
tangling  her  in  unseen  meshes,  so  that  she  stirred,  grop 
ing  amid  the  netted  brightness,  drawn  onward  along 
dim  paths  and  through  corridors  of  thought  where,  al 
ways  beyond,  vague  splendours  seemed  to  beckon. 

Now  lost,  now  restless,  conscious  of  the  perils  of  the 
shining  path  she  followed,  the  rhythm  of  an  ocean  sooth 
ing  her  to  false  security,  she  dreamed  on  awake,  uncon 
scious  of  the  tinted  sea  and  sky  which  stained  her  eyes  to 
12  167 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

hues  ineffable.  A  long  while  afterward  a  small  cloud 
floated  across  the  sun ;  and,  in  the  sudden  shadow  on  the 
world,  doubt  sounded  its  tiny  voice,  and  her  ears  listened, 
and  the  enchantment  faded  and  died  away. 

Turning,  she  looked  across  the  sand  at  the  man  lying 
there;  her  eyes  considered  him — how  long  she  did  not 
know,  she  did  not  heed — until,  stirring,  he  looked  up; 
and  she  paled  a  trifle  and  closed  her  eyes,  stunned  by 
the  sudden  clamour  of  pulse  and  heart. 

When  he  rose  and  walked  over,  she  looked  up 
gravely,  pouring  the  last  handful  of  white  sand  through 
her  stretched  fingers. 

"  Did  you  dream?  "  he  asked  lightly. 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  you  dream  true?  " 

"  Nothing  of  my  dream  can  happen,"  she  said. 
"  You  know  that,  .  .  .  don't  you?" 

"  I  know  that  we  love  .  .  .  and  that  we  dare  not 
ignore  it." 

She  suffered  his  arm  about  her,  his  eyes  looking 
deeply  into  hers — a  close,  sweet  caress,  a  union  of  lips, 
and  her  dimmed  eyes'  response. 

"  Stephen,"  she  faltered,  "  how  can  you  make  it 
so  hard  for  me?  How  can  you  force  me  to  this 
shame !  " 

"  Shame?  "  he  repeated  vaguely. 

"  Yes — this  treachery  to  myself — when  I  cannot  hope 
to  be  more  to  you — when  I  dare  not  love  you  too  much !  " 

"  You  must  dare,  Sylvia !  " 

"  No,  no,  no !  I  know  myself,  I  tell  you.  I  can 
not  give  up  what  is  offered — for  you! — dearly,  dearly 
as  I  do  love  you !  "  She  turned  and  caught  his  hands  in 
hers,  flushed,  trembling,  unstrung.  "  I  cannot — I  sim 
ply  cannot!  How  can  you  love  me  and  listen  to  such 

168 


MODUS    VIVENDI 


wickedness?  How  can  you  still  care  for  such  a  girl  as 
I  am — worse  than  mercenary,  because  I  have  a  heart 
— or  had,  until  you  took  it !  Keep  it ;  it  is  the  only  part 
of  me  not  all  ignoble." 

"  I  will  keep  it — in  trust,"  he  said,  "  until  you  give 
yourself  with  it." 

But  she  only  shook  her  head  wearily,  withdrawing 
her  hands  from  his,  and  for  a  time  they  sat  silent,  eyes 
apart. 

Then — "  There  is  another  reason,"  she  said  wist 
fully. 

He  looked  up  at  her,  hesitated,  and — "  My  habits?  " 
he  asked  simply. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  have  them  in  check." 

"  Are  you — certain?  " 

"  I  think  I  may  be — now." 

"  Yet,"  she  said  timidly,  "  you  lost  one  fight — since 
you  knew  me." 

The  dull  red  mantling  his  face  wrung  her  heart.  She 
turned  impulsively  and  laid  both  hands  on  his  shoulders. 
"  That  chance  I  would  take,  with  all  its  uncertainty,  all 
the  dread  inheritance  you  have  come  into.  I  love  you 
enough  for  that;  and  if  it  turned  out  that — that  you 
could  not  stem  the  tide,  even  with  me  to  face  it  with  you ; 
and  if  the  pity  of  it,  the  grief  of  it,  killed  me,  I  would 
take  that  chance — if  you  loved  me  through  it  all. 
.  .  .  But  there  is  something  else.  Hush;  let  me  have 
my  say  while  I  find  the  words — something  else  you  do  not 
understand.  .  .  .  Turn  your  face  a  little;  please  don't 
look  at  me.  This  is  what  you  do  not  know — that,  in 
three  generations,  every  woman  of  my  race  has — gone 
wrong.  .  .  .  Every  one!  and  I  am  beginning — with 
such  a  marriage!  .  .  .  deliberately,  selfishly,  shame- 

169 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

lessly,  perfectly  conscious  of  the  frivolous,  erratic  blood 
in  me,  aware  of  the  race  record  behind  me. 

"  Once,  when  I  knew  nothing — before  I — I  met  you 
— I  believed  such  a  marriage  would  not  only  permit  me 
mental  tranquillity,  but  safely  anchor  me  in  the  harbour 
of  convention,  leaving  me  free  to  become  what  I  am 
fashioned  to  become — autocrat  and  arbiter  in  my  own 
world.  And  now !  and  now !  I  don't  know — truly  I 
don't  know  what  I  may  become.  Your  love  forces  my 
hand.  I  am  displaying  all  the  shallowness,  falseness, 
pettiness,  all  the  mean,  and  cruel  and  callous  character 
which  must  be  truly  my  real  self.  .  .  .  Only  I  shall  not 
marry  you !  You  are  not  to  run  the  risk  of  what  I 
might  prove  to  be  when  I  remember  in  bitterness  all  I 
have  renounced.  If  I  married  you  I  should  remember, 
unreconciled,  what  you  cost  me.  Better  for  you  and 
for  me  that  I  marry  him,  and  let  him  bear  with  me  when 
I  remember  that  he  cost  me  you  !  " 

She  bent  over,  almost  double,  closing  her  eyes  with 
small  clenched  hands;  and  he  saw  the  ring  shimmering 
in  the  sunshine,  and  her  hair,  heavily,  densely  gold,  and 
the  white  nape  of  her  neck,  and  the  tiny  close-set  ears, 
and  the  curved  softness  of  cheek  and  chin;  every 
smooth,  childlike  contour  and  mould — rounded  arms, 
slim,  flowing  lines  of  body  and  limb — all  valued  at  many 
millions  by  her  as  her  own  appraiser. 

Suddenly,  deep  within  him,  something  seemed  to  fail, 
die  out — perhaps  a  tiny  newly  lighted  flame  of  unaccus 
tomed  purity,  the  dawning  flicker  of  aspiration  to  better 
things.  Whatever  it  was,  material,  spiritual,  was  gone 
now,  and  where  it  had  glimmered  for  a  night,  the  old 
accustomed  twilit  doubt  crept  in — the  same  dull  acquies 
cence — the  same  uncertainty  of  self,  the  familiar 
lack  of  will,  of  incentive,  the  congenial  tendency  to  drift ; 

170 


MODUS    VIVENDI 


and  with  it  came  weariness — perhaps  reaction  from  the 
recent  skirmishes  with  that  master-vice. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said  in  a  dull  voice,  "  you  are 
right." 

"  No,  I  am  wrong — wrong !  "  she  said,  lifting  her 
lovely  face  and  heavy  eyes.  "  But  I  have  chosen  my 
path.  .  .  .  And  you  will  forget." 

"  I  hope  so,"  he  said  simply. 

"  If  you  hope  so,  you  will." 

He  nodded,  unconvinced,  watching  a  flock  of  sand 
pipers  whirling  into  the  cove  like  a  gray  snow-squall  and 
fearlessly  settling  on  the  beach. 

After  a  while,  with  a  long  breath :  "  Then  it  is  set 
tled,"  she  concluded. 

If  she  expected  corroboration  from  him  she  received 
none;  and  perhaps  she  was  not  awaiting  it.  She  sat 
very  still,  her  eyes  lost  in  thought. 

And  Mortimer,  peeping  down  at  them  over  the 
thicket  above,  yawned  impatiently  and  glanced  about 
him  for  the  most  convenient  avenue  of  self-effacement 
when  the  time  arrived. 


171 


CHAPTER  VII 

PEKSUASION 

THE  days  of  the  house-party  at  Shotover  were  num 
bered.  A  fresh  relay  of  guests  was  to  replace  them  on 
Monday,  and  so  they  were  making  the  most  of  the  wan 
ing  week  on  lawn  and  marsh,  in  covert  and  blind,  or 
motoring  madly  over  the  State,  or  riding  in  parties  to 
Vermillion  Light.  Tennis  and  lawn  bowls  came  into 
fashion;  even  water  polo  and  squash  alternated  on  days 
too  raw  for  more  rugged  sport. 

And  during  all  these  days  Beverly  Plank  appeared 
with  unflagging  persistence  and  assiduity,  until  his  fa 
miliar,  big,  round  head  and  patient,  delft-blue,  Dutch 
eyes  became  a  matter  of  course  at  Shotover,  indoors  and 
out. 

It  was  not  that  he  was  either  accepted,  tolerated,  or 
endured;  he  was  simply  there,  and  nobody  took  the 
trouble  to  question  his  all-pervading  presence  until  every 
body  had  become  too  much  habituated  to  him  to  think 
about  it  at  all. 

The  accomplished  establishment  of  Beverly  Plank 
was  probably  due  as  much  to  his  own  obstinate  and  good- 
tempered  persistence  as  to  Mrs.  Mortimer.  He  was  a 
Harvard  graduate — there  are  all  kinds  of  them — enor 
mously  wealthy,  and  though  he  had  no  particular  per 
sonal  tastes  to  gratify,  he  was  willing  and  able  to  gratify 
the  tastes  of  others.  He  did  whatever  anybody  else 
did,  and  did  it  well  enough  to  be  amusing;  and  as  lack 

172 


PERSUASION 


of  intellectual  development  never  barred  anybody  from 
any  section  of  the  fashionable  world,  it  seemed  fair  to 
infer  that  he  would  land  where  he  wanted  to,  sooner  or 
later. 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Mortimer  led  him  about  with  the 
confidence  that  was  her  perquisite;  and  the  chances  were 
that  in  due  time  he  would  have  house-parties  of  his  own 
at  Black  Fells — not  the  kind  he  had  wisely  denied  him 
self  the  pleasure  of  giving,  with  such  neighbours  as  the 
Ferralls  to  observe,  but  the  sort  he  desired.  However, 
there  were  many  things  to  be  accomplishd  for  him  and 
by  him  before  he  could  expect  to  use  his  great  yacht  and 
his  estates  and  his  shooting  boxes  and  the  vast  granite 
mansion  recently  completed  and  facing  Central  Park 
just  north  of  the  new  palaces  built  on  the  edges  of  the 
outer  desert  where  Fifth  Avenue  fringes  the  hundreds. 

Meanwhile,  he  had  become  in  a  measure  domesticated 
at  Shotover,  and  Shotover  people  gradually  came  to 
ride,  drive,  and  motor  over  the  Fells,  which  was  a  good 
beginning,  though  not  necessarily  a  promise  for  anything 
definite  in  the  future. 

Mortimer,  riding  a  huge  chestnut — he  could  still 
wedge  himself  into  a  saddle — had  now  made  it  a  regular 
practice  to  affect  the  jocular  early-bird  squire,  and  drag 
Plank  out  of  bed.  And  Plank,  in  no  position  to  be  any 
thing  but  flattered  by  such  sans  gene,  laboriously  and 
gratefully  splashed  through  his  bath,  wallowed  amid  the 
breakfast  plates,  and  mounted  a  hunter  for  long  and 
apparently  aimless  gallops  with  Mortimer. 

His  acquaintance  among  people  who  knew  Mortimer 
being  limited,  he  had  no  means  of  determining  the  lat- 
ter's  social  value  except  through  hearsay  and  a  toady 
ing  newspaper  or  two.  Therefore  he  was  not  yet  aware 
of  Mortimer's  perennial  need  of  money ;  and  when  Mor- 

173 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

timer  laughingly  alluded  to  his  poverty,  Plank  accepted 
the  proposition  in  a  purely  comparative  sense,  and 
laughed,  too,  his  thrifty  Dutch  soul  untroubled  by  mis 
givings. 

Meanwhile,  Mortimer  had  come,  among  other 
things,  on  information;  how  much,  and  precisely  of 
what  nature,  he  was  almost  too  much  ashamed  to  admit 
definitely,  even  to  himself.  Still,  the  idea  that  had  led 
him  into  this  sudden  intimacy  with  Plank,  vague  or  not, 
persisted;  and  he  was  always  hovering  on  the  edge  of 
hinting  at  something  which  might  elicit  a  responsive 
hint  from  the  flattered  master  of  Black  Fells. 

There  was  much  about  Plank  that  was  unaffected, 
genuine,  even  simple,  in  one  sense;  he  cared  for  people 
for  their  own  sakes;  and  only  stubborn  adherence  to  a 
dogged  ambition  had  enabled  him  to  dispense  with  the 
society  of  many  people  he  might  easily  have  cultivated 
and  liked — people  nearer  his  own  sort;  and  that,  per 
haps,  was  the  reason  he  so  readily  liked  Mortimer, 
whose  coarse  fibre  soon  wore  through  the  polish  when 
rubbed  against  by  a  closer,  finer  fibre.  And  Plank  liked 
him  aside  from  gratitude;  and  they  got  on  famously 
on  the  basis  of  such  mutual  recognition.  Then,  one 
day,  very  suddenly,  Mortimer  stumbled  on  something 
valuable — a  thread,  a  mere  clew,  so  astonishing  that  for 
an  instant  it  absolutely  upset  all  his  unadmitted  theories 
and  calculations. 

It  was  nothing — a  vague  word  or  two — a  forced 
laugh — and  the  scared  silence  of  this  man  Plank,  who 
had  blundered  on  the  verge  of  a  confidence  to  a  man  he 
liked. 

A  moment  of  amazement,  of  half-incredulous  sus 
picion,  of  certainty;  and  Mortimer  pounced  playfully 
upon  him  like  a  tiger — a  big,  fat,  friendly,  jocose  tiger: 

174 


PERSUASION 


"  Plank,  is  that  what  you're  up  to !  " 

"  Up  to !     Why,  I  never  thought  of  such  a " 

"  Haw !  haw !  "  roared  Mortimer.  "  If  you  could 
only  see  your  face !  " 

And  Beverly  Plank,  red  as  a  beet,  comfortably  suf 
fused  with  reassurance  under  the  reaction  from  his  scare, 
attempted  to  refute  the  other's  'conclusions:  "  It 
doesn't  mean  anything,  Mortimer.  She's  just  the  hand 
somest  girl  I  ever  saw.  I  know  she's  engaged.  I  only 
admired  her  a  lot." 

"  You're  not  the  only  man,"  said  Mortimer  blandly, 
still  striving  to  reconcile  his  preconceived  theories  with 
the  awkward  half-confession  of  this  great,  red-fisted, 
hulking  horseman  riding  at  his  stirrup. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  her  dream,"  stammered  Plank, 
"  that  I  had  ever  thought  of  such  a " 

"Why  not?      It  would  only  flatter  her." 

"  Flatter  a  woman  who  is  engaged  to  marry  another 
man !  "  gasped  Plank. 

"  Certainly.  Do  you  think  any  woman  ever  had 
enough  admiration  in  this  world?  "  asked  Mortimer 
coolly.  "  And  as  for  Sylvia  Landis,  she'd  be  tickled 
to  death  of  anybody  hinted  that  you  had  ever  ad 
mired  her." 

"Good  Lord!"  exclaimed  Plank,  alarmed;  "You 
wouldn't  make  a  joke  of  it!  you  wouldn't  be  careless 
about  such  a  thing !  And  there's  Quarrier !  I'm  not  on 
joking  terms  with  him;  I'm  on  most  formal  terms." 

"  Quarrier !  "  sneered  the  other,  flicking  at  his  stirrup 
with  his  crop.  "  He's  on  formal  terms  with  everybody, 
including  himself.  He  never  laughed  on  purpose  in  his 
life ;  once  a  month  only,  to  keep  his  mouth  in ;  that's  his 
limit.  Do  you  suppose  any  woman  would  stand  for  him 
if  a  better  man  looked  sideways  at  her?"  And,  re- 

175 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

versing  his  riding  crop,  he  deliberately  poked  Mr.  Plank 
in  the  ribs. 

"  A — a  better  man !  "  muttered  Plank,  scarce  credit 
ing  his  ears. 

"  Certainly.  A  man  who  can  make  good,  is  good ; 
but  a  man  whr  can  make  better  is  it  with  the  ladies — 
God  bless  'em  i "  he  added,  displaying  a  heavy  set  of 
teeth. 

Beverly  Plank  knew  perfectly  well  that,  in  the  com 
parison  so  delicately  suggested  by  Mortimer,  his  material 
equipment  could  be  scarcely  compared  to  the  immense 
fortune  controlled  by  Howard  Quarrier;  and  as  he 
thought  it,  his  reflections  were  put  into  words  by  Mor 
timer,  airily  enough : 

"  Nobody  stands  a  chance  in  a  show-down  with 
Quarrier.  But " 

Plank  gaped  until  the  tension  became  unbearable. 

"  But— what?  "  he  blurted  out. 

"  Plank,"  said  Mortimer  solemnly,  and  his  voice 
vibrated  with  feeling,  "  Let  me  do  a  little  thinking  be 
fore  I  ask  you  a — a  vital  question." 

But  Plank  had  become  agitated  again,  and  he  said 
something  so  bluntly  that  Mortimer  wheeled  on  him, 
glowering : 

"  Look  here,  Plank :  you  don't  suppose  Pm  capable 
of  repeating  a  confidence,  do  you? — if  you  choose  to 
make  me  understand  it's  a  confidence." 

"  It  isn't  a  confidence ;  it  isn't  anything ;  I  mean  it 
is  confidential,  of  course.  All  there's  in  it  is  what  I  said 
— or  rather  what  you  took  me  up  on  so  fast,"  ended 
Plank,  abashed. 

"  About  your  being  in  love  with  Syl " 

"  Confound  it!  "  roared  Plank,  crimson  to  his  hair; 
and  he  set  his  heavy  spurs  to  his  mount  and  plunged 

176 


PERSUASION 


forward  in  a  storm  of  dust.  Mortimer  followed,  silent, 
profoundly  immersed  in  his  own  thoughts  and  deduc 
tions;  and  as  he  pounded  along,  turning  over  in  his 
mind  all  the  varied  information  he  had  so  unexpectedly 
obtained  in  these  last  few  da}rs,  a  dull  excitement  stirred 
him,  and  he  urged  his  huge  horse  forward  in  a  thrill  of 
rising  exhilaration  such  as  seizes  on  men  who  hunt,  no 
matter  what  they  hunt — the  savage,  swimming  sense  of 
intoxication  which  marks  the  man  who  chases  the  quarry 
not  for  its  own  value,  but  because  it  is  his  nature  to  chase 
and  ride  down  and  enjoy  spoils.  !  . 

And  all  that  afternoon,  having  taken  to  his  room  on 
pretence  of  neuralgia,  he  lay  sprawled  on  his  bed,  think 
ing,  thinking.  Not  that  he  meant  harm  to  anybody,  he 
told  himself  very  frequently.  He  had,  of  course,  in 
formation  which  certain  degraded  men  might  use  in  a 
contemptible  way,  but  he,  Mortimer,  did  not  resemble 
such  men  in  any  particular.  All  he  desired  was  to  do 
Plank  a  good  turn.  There  was  nothing  disreputable  in 
doing  a  wealthy  man  a  favour.  .  .  .  And  God  knew  a 
wealthy  man's  gratitude  was  necessary  to  him  at  that 
very  moment — gratitude  substantially  acknowledged. 
.  .  .  He  liked  Plank — wished  him  well;  that  was  all 
right,  too ;  but  a  man  is  an  ass  who  doesn't  wish  himself 
well  also.  .  .  .  Two  birds  with  one  stone.  .  .  .  Three ! 
for  he  hated  Quarrier.  Four !  .  .  .  for  he  had  no  love 
for  his  wife.  .  .  .  Besides,  it  would  teach  Leila  a  whole 
some  lesson — teach  her  that  he  still  counted;  serve  her 
right  for  her  disgusting  selfishness  about  Plank. 

No,  there  was  to  be  nothing  disreputable  in  his  pro 
ceedings;  that  he  would  be  very  careful  about.  .  .  . 
Probably  Major  Belwether  might  express  his  gratitude 
substantially  if  he,  Mortimer,  went  to  him  frankly  and 
volunteered  not  to  mention  to  Quarrier  the  scene  he  had 

177 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

witnessed  between  Sylvia  Landis  and  Stephen  Siward  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning  in  the  corridor;  and  if,  in 
playful  corroboration,  he  displayed  the  cap  and  rain 
coat  and  the  big  fan,  all  crushed,  which  objects  of  in 
terest  he  had  discovered  later  in  the  bay-window.  .  .  . 
Yes,  probably  Major  Belwether  would  be  very  grateful, 
because  he  wanted  Quarrier  in  the  family;  he  needed 
Quarrier  in  his  business.  .  .  .  But,  faugh !  that  was 
close  enough  to  blackmail  to  rub  off!  ...  No!  .  .  . 
No!  He  wouldn't  go  to  Belwether  and  promise  any 
such  thing !  ...  On  the  contrary,  he  felt  it  his  duty  to 
inform  Quarrier!  Quarrier  had  a  right  to  know  what 
sort  of  a  girl  he  was  threatened  with  for  life!  ...  A 
man  ought  not  to  let  another  man  go  blindly  into  such 
a  marriage.  .  .  .  Men  owed  each  other  something,  even 
if  they  were  not  particularly  close  friends.  .  .  .  And 
he  had  always  had  a  respect  for  Quarrier,  even  a  sort  of 
liking  for  him — yes,  a  distinct  liking!  .  .  .  And,  any 
how,  women  were  devils !  and  it  behooved  men  to  get  to 
gether  and  stand  for  one  another ! 

Quarrier  would  give  her  her  walking  papers  damned 
quick!  .  .  .  And,  in  her  humiliation,  is  there  anybody 
mad  enough  to  fancy  that  she  wouldn't  snap  up  Plank 
in  such  a  fix?  ...  And  make  it  look  like  a  jilt  for 
Quarrier?  .  .  .  But  Plank  must  do  his  part  on  the  min 
ute;  Plank  must  step  up  in  the  very  nick  of  time; 
Plank,  with  his  millions  and  his  ambitions,  was  bound  to 
be  a  winner  anyway,  and  Sylvia  might  as  well  be  his 
pilot  and  use  his  money.  .  .  .  And  Plank  would  be  very, 
very  grateful — very  useful,  a  very  good  friend  to  have. 
.  .  .  And  Leila  would  learn  at  last  that  he,  Mortimer, 
had  cut  his  wisdom  teeth,  by  God ! 

As  for  Siward,  he  amounted  to  nothing;  probably 
was  one  of  that  contemptible  sort  of  men  who  butted  in 

178 


PERSUASION 


and  kissed  a  pretty  girl  when  he  had  the  chance.  He, 
Mortimer,  had  only  disgust  for  such  amateurs  of  the 
social  by-ways ;  for  he  himself  kept  to  the  highways,  like 
any  self-respecting  professional,  even  when  a  tour  of  the 
highways  sometimes  carried  him  below  stairs.  There 
was  no  romantic  shilly-shallying  fol-de-rol  about  him. 
Women  learned  what  to  expect  from  him  in  short  order. 
En  guard,  Madame! — ou  Mademoiselle — tant  pis! 

He  laughed  to  himself  and  rolled  over,  digging  his 
head  into  the  pillows  and  stretching  his  fat  hands  to 
ease  their  congestion.  And  most  of  all  he  amused  him 
self  with  figuring  out  the  exact  degree  of  his  wife's  as 
tonishment  and  chagrin  when,  without  consulting  her, 
he  achieved  the  triumph  of  Quarrier's  elimination  and 
the  theatrical  entry  of  Beverly  Plank  upon  the  stage. 
He  laughed  when  he  thought  of  Major  Belwether,  too, 
confounded  under  the  loss  of  such  a  nephew-in-law, 
humiliated,  crushed,  all  his  misleading  jocularity,  all 
his  sleek  pink-and-white  suavity,  all  his  humbugging 
bonhomie  knocked  out  of  him,  leaving  only  a  rumpled, 
startled  old  gentleman,  who  bore  an  amusing  resem 
blance  to  a  very  much  mussed-up  buck-rabbit. 

"  Haw !  haw ! "  roared  Mortimer,  rolling  about  in 
his  bed  and  kicking  the  slippers  from  his  fat  feet. 
Then,  remembering  that  he  was  supposed  to  be  suffering 
silently  in  his  room,  he  hunched  up  to  a  sitting  posture 
and  regarded  his  environment  with  a  subdued  grin. 

Everything  seems  easy  when  it  seems  funny.  After 
all,  the  matter  was  simple — absurdly  simple.  A  word  to 
Quarrier,  and  crack !  the  match  was  off !  Girl  mad  as  a 
hornet,  but  staggered,  has  no  explanation  to  offer ;  man 
frozen  stiff  with  rage,  mute  as  an  iceberg.  Then,  zip ! 
Enter  Beverly  Plank — the  girl's  rescuer  at  a  pinch — 
her  preserver,  the  saviour  of  her  "  face,"  the  big,  highly 

179 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

coloured,  leaden-eyed  deus  ex  machina.  Would  she  take 
fifty  cents  on  the  dollar?  Would  she?  to  buy  herself  a 
new  "face"?  And  put  it  all  over  Quarrier?  And 
live  happy  ever  after?  Would  she?  Oh,  not  at  all! 

And  Mortimer  rolled  over  in  another  paroxysm; 
which  wasn't  good  for  him,  and  frightened  him  enough 
to  lie  still  awhile  and  think  how  best  he  might  cut  down 
on  his  wine  and  spirits. 

The  main  thing,  after  all,  was  to  promise  Plank  his 
opportunity,  but  not  tell  him  how  he  was  to  obtain  it; 
for  Mortimer  had  an  uneasy  idea  that  there  was  some 
thing  of  the  Puritan  deep  planted  under  the  stolid 
young  man's  hide,  and  that  he  might  make  some  absurd 
and  irrelevant  objection  to  the  perfectly  proper  methods 
employed  by  his  newly  self-constituted  guide  and  mentor. 
No;  that  was  no  concern  of  Plank's.  All  he  had  to  do 
was  to  be  ready.  As  for  Quarrier,  anybody  could  fore 
cast  his  action  when  once  convinced  of  Sylvia's  behaviour. 

He  lay  there  pondering  several  methods  of  imparting 
the  sad  but  necessary  information  to  Quarrier.  One 
thing  was  certain :  there  was  not  now  time  enough  before 
the  house-party  dissolved  to  mould  Plank  into  acquiescent 
obedience.  That  must  be  finished  in  town — unless  Plank 
invited  him  to  stay  at  the  Fells  after  his  time  was  up  at 
Shotover.  By  Heaven!  That  was  the  idea!  And 
there'd  be  a  chance  for  him  at  cards!  .  .  .  Only,  of 
course,  Plank  would  ask  Leila  too.  .  .  .  But  what  did 
he  care !  He  was  no  longer  afraid  of  her ;  he'd  soon  be 
independent  of  her  and  her  pittance.  Let  her  go  to  the 
courts  for  her  divorce !  Let  her 

He  sat  up  rather  suddenly,  perplexed  with  a  new 
idea  which,  curiously  enough,  had  not  appealed  to  him 
before.  The  astonishing  hint  so  coolly  dropped  by  his 
wife  concerning  her  fearlessness  of  divorce  proceedings 

180 


PERSUASION 


had  only  awakened  him  to  the  consciousness  of  his  own 
vulnerability  and  carelessness  of  conduct. 

Now  it  occurred  to  him,  for  the  first  time,  that  if  it 
were  not  a  mere  bluff  on  Leila's  part,  this  sudden  coquet 
ting  with  the  question  of  divorce  might  indicate  an 
ulterior  object.  Was  Leila  considering  his  elimination 
in  view  of  this  ulterior  object?  Was  there  an  ulterior 
gentleman  somewhere  prepared  to  replace  him?  If  so, 
where?  And  who? 

His  wife's  possible  indiscretions  had  never  interested 
him ;  he  simply  didn't  care — had  no  curiosity,  as  long 
as  appearances  were  maintained.  And  she  had  preserved 
appearances  with  a  skill  which  required  all  the  indifferent 
and  easy  charity  of  their  set  to  pretend  completely  de 
ceived  everybody.  Yes,  he  gave  her  credit  for  that ;  she 
had  been  clever.  Nobody  outside  of  the  social  register 
knew  the  true  state  of  affairs  in  the  house  of  Leroy 
Mortimer — which,  after  all,  was  all  anybody  cared 
about. 

And  so,  immersed  in  the  details  of  his  dirty  little 
drama,  he  pondered  over  the  possibility  of  an  ulterior 
gentleman  as  he  moved  heavily  to  and  fro,  dressing  him 
self — his  neuralgia  being  much  better — and  presently 
descended  the  stairs  to  find  everybody  absent,  engaged, 
as  a  servant  explained,  in  a  game  of  water  basket-ball  in 
the  swimming  pool.  So  he  strolled  off  toward  the  north 
wing  of  the  house,  which  had  been  built  for  the  squash- 
courts  and  swimming  pool. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  an  uproar  in  the  big 
gymnasium  as  Mortimer  walked  in,  threading  his  way 
through  the  palms  and  orange-trees ;  much  splashing  in 
the  pool,  cries  and  stifled  laughter,  and  the  quick  rattle 
of  applause  from  the  gallery  of  the  squash-courts. 

The  Page  boys  and  Rena  and  Eileen  on  one  side 
181 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

were  playing  the  last  match  game  against  Sylvia, 
Marion  Page,  Siward,  and  Ferrall  on  the  other;  the 
big,  slippery,  glistening  ball  was  flying  about  through 
storms  of  spray.  Marion  caught  it,  but  her  brother 
Gordon  got  it  away;  then  Ferrall  secured  it  and  dived 
toward  the  red  goal;  but  Rena  Bonnesdel  caught  him 
under  water;  the  ball  bobbed  up,  and  Sylvia  flung  both 
arms  around  it  with  a  little  warning  shout  and  hurled  it 
back  at  Siward,  who  shot  forward  like  an  arrow,  his  op 
ponents  gathering  about  him  in  full  cry,  amid  laughter 
and  excited  applause  from  the  gallery,  where  Grace 
Ferrall  and  Captain  Voucher  were  wildly  offering  odds 
on  the  blue,  and  Alderdene  and  Major  Belwether  were 
thriftily  booking  them. 

Mortimer  climbed  the  slippery,  marble  stairway  as 
fast  as  his  lack  of  breath  permitted,  anxious  for  his 
share  of  the  harvest  if  the  odds  were  right.  He  ignored 
his  wife's  smilingly  ironical  offer,  seeing  no  sense  in 
bothering  about  money  already  inside  the  family;  but 
he  managed  to  make  several  apparently  desirable  wagers 
with  Katharyn  Tassel  and  one  with  Beverly  Plank,  who 
was  also  obstinately  backing  the  blues,  the  losing  side. 
Sylvia  played  forward  for  the  blues. 

Agatha  Caithness,  sleeves  rolled  up,  tall  and  slim 
and  strangely  pale  in  her  white  flannels,  came  from  the 
squash-court  with  Quarrier  to  watch  the  finish ;  and  Mor 
timer  observed  her  sidewise,  blinking,  irresolute,  for  he 
had  never  understood  her  and  was  always  a  trifle  afraid 
of  her.  A  pair  of  icicles,  she  and  Quarrier,  with  whom 
he  had  never  been  on  betting  terms ;  so  he  made  no  sug 
gestions  in  that  direction,  and  presently  became  absorbed 
in  the  splashing  battle  below.  Indeed,  such  a  dashing 
of  foam  and  showering  of  spray  was  taking  place  that 
the  fronds  of  the  big  palms  hung  dripping  amid  drenched 

182 


PERSUASION 


blossoms  overweighted  and  prone  on  the  wet  marble  edges 
of  the  pool. 

Suddenly,  through  the  confused  blur  of  foam  and 
spray,  the  big,  glistening  ball  shot  aloft  and  remained. 

"  Blue !  Blue !  "  exclaimed  Grace  Ferrall,  clapping 
her  hands ;  and  a  little  whirlwind  of  cries  and  hand  clap 
ping  echoed  from  the  gallery  as  the  breathless  swimmers 
came  climbing  out  of  the  pool,  with  scarcely  wind  enough 
left  for  a  word  or  strength  for  a  gesture  toward  the 
laughing  crowd  above. 

Mortimer,  disgusted,  turned  away,  already  casting 
about  him  for  somebody  to  play  cards  with — it  being  his 
temperament  and  his  temper  to  throw  good  money  after 
bad.  But  Quarrier  and  Miss  Caithness  had  already  re 
turned  to  the  squash-courts,  the  majority  of  the  swim 
mers  to  their  several  dressing-rooms,  and  Grace  Ferrall's 
party,  equipped  for  motoring,  to  the  lawn,  where  they 
lost  little  time  in  disappearing  into  the  golden  haze 
which  a  sudden  shift  of  wind  had  spun  out  of  the  cloud 
less  afternoon's  sunshine. 

However,  he  got  Marion,  and  also,  as  usual,  the  two 
men  who  had  made  a  practice  of  taking  away  his  money 
— Major  Belwether  and  Lord  Alderdene.  He  hadn't 
particularly  wanted  them ;  he  wanted  somebody  he  could 
play  with,  like  Siward,  for  example,  or  even  the  two 
ten-dollar  Pages ;  not  that  their  combined  twenty  would 
do  him  much  good,  but  it  would  at  least  permit  him  the 
pleasures  of  the  card-table  without  personal  loss. 

But  the  Pages  had  retired  to  dress,  and  Voucher  was 
for  motoring,  and  he  had  no  use  for  his  wife,  and  he 
was  afraid  of  Plank's  game,  and  Siward,  seated  on  the 
edge  of  the  pool  and  sharing  a  pint  of  ginger-ale  with 
Sylvia  Landis,  shook  his  head  at  the  suggestion  and  re 
sumed  his  division  of  the  ginger-ale. 
13  183 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Plank  and  Leila  Mortimer  came  down  to  congratu 
late  them.  Sylvia,  always  instinctively  and  particularly 
nice  to  people  of  Plank's  sort  whom  she  occasionally  en 
countered,  was  so  faultlessly  amiable,  that  Plank,  who 
had  never  before  permitted  himself  the  privilege  of 
monopolising  her,  found  himself  doing  it  so  easily  that 
it  kept  him  in  a  state  of  persistent  mental  intoxication. 

That  slow,  sweet,  upward  training  inflection  to  a 
statement  which  instantly  became  a  confided  question 
was  an  unconscious  trick  which  had  been  responsible,  in 
Sylvia's  brief  life,  for  more  mistakes  than  anything  else. 
Like  others  before  him,  Beverly  Plank  made  the  mistake 
that  the  sweetness  of  voice  and  the  friendliness  of  eyes 
were  particularly  personal  to  him,  in  tribute  to  qualities 
he  had  foolishly  enough  hitherto  not  suspected  in  him 
self.  Now  he  suspected  them,  and  whatever  of  real 
qualities  desirable  had  been  latent  in  him  also  appeared 
at  once,  confirming  his  modest  suspicions.  Certainly  he 
was  a  wit !  Was  not  this  perfectly  charming  girl's  re 
sponsive  and  delicious  laughter  proof  enough?  Cer 
tainly  he  was  epigrammatic!  Certainly  he  could  be 
easy,  polished,  amusing,  sympathetic,  and  vastly  inter 
esting  all  the  while.  Could  he  not  divine  it  in  her  un 
divided  attention,  the  quick,  amused  flicker  of  recogni 
tion  animating  her  beautiful  face  when  he  had  turned  a 
particularly  successful  phrase  or  taken  a  verbal  hurdle 
without  a  cropper?  And  above  all,  her  kindness  to  him 
impressed  him ;  her  natural  and  friendly  pleasure  in  be 
ing  agreeable.  Here  he  was  already  on  an  informal  foot 
ing  with  one  of  the  persons  of  whom  he  had  been  most  shy 
and  uncertain.  If  people  were  going  to  be  as  considerate 
of  him  as  she  had  proved,  why — why 

His  dull,  Dutch-blue  eyes  returned  to  her,  fascinated. 
The  conquest  of  what  he  desired  and  meant  to  have  be- 

184 


PERSUASION 


came  merged  in  a  vague  plan  which  included  such  a 
marriage  as  he  had  dreamed  of. 

Somebody  had  once  told  him  that  a  man  who  could 
afford  to  dress  for  dinner  could  go  anywhere;  meaning 
that,  being  a  man,  nature  had  fitted  his  feet  with  the 
paraphernalia  for  climbing  as  high  as  he  cared  to  climb. 

There  was  just  enough  truth  in  the  statement  to 
determine  him  to  use  his  climbing  irons ;  and  he  had  done 
so,  carrying  his  fortune  with  him,  which  had  proved 
neither  an  impediment  nor  an  aid  so  far.  But  now  he 
had  concluded  that  neither  his  god-sent  climbing  irons, 
his  amiability,  his  obstinacy,  his  mild,  tireless  persis 
tency,  nor  his  money  counted.  It  had  come  to  a  crisis 
where  personal  worth  and  sterling  character  must  carry 
him  through  sheer  merit  to  the  inner  temple — that  inner 
temple  of  raw  gold  whose  altars  are  served  by  a  sexless 
skeleton  in  cap  and  bells ! 

Siward,  inclined  to  be  amused  by  the  duration  of 
the  trance  into  which  Plank  had  fallen,  watched  the 
progress  of  that  bulky  young  man's  infatuation  as  he 
sat  there  on  the  pool's  marble  edge,  exchanging  trivial 
views  on  trivial  subjects  with  Mrs.  Leroy  Mortimer. 

But  her  conversation,  even  when  inconsequential,  was 
never  wearisome  except  when  she  made  it  so  for  her  hus 
band's  benefit.  Features,  person,  personality,  and  tem 
perament  were  warmly  exotic;  her  dark  eyes  with  their 
slight  Japanese  slant,  the  clear  olive  skin  with  its  rose 
bloom,  the  temptation  of  mouth  and  slender  neck,  were 
always  provocative  of  the  audacity  in  men  which  she 
could  so  well  meet  with  amusement  or  surprise,  or  at 
times  with  a  fascinating  audacity  of  her  own  wholly 
charming  because  of  its  setting. 

Once,  in  their  history,  during  her  early  married  life, 
185 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Siward  had  been  very  sentimental  about  her ;  but  neither 
he  nor  she  had  approached  the  danger  line  closer  than 
to  make  daring  eyes  at  one  another  across  the  frontiers 
of  good  taste.  And  their  youthful  enchantment  had 
faded  so  naturally,  so  pleasantly,  that  always  there  had 
remained  to  them  both  an  agreeable  after-taste — a  sort 
of  gay  understanding  which  almost  invariably  led  to 
mutual  banter  when  they  encountered.  But  now  some 
thing  appeared  to  be  lacking  in  their  rather  listless 
badinage — something  of  the  usual  flavour  which  once  had 
salted  even  a  laughing  silence  with  significance.  Siward, 
too,  had  ceased  to  be  amused  at  the  spectacle  of  Plank's 
calf-like  infatuation;  and  Leila  Mortimer's  bored  smile 
had  lasted  so  long  that  her  olive-pink  cheeks  were  stiff, 
and  she  relaxed  her  fixed  features  with  a  little  shrug  that 
was  also  something  of  a  shiver.  Then,  looking  pru 
dently  around,  she  encountered  Siward's  eyes ;  and  dur 
ing  a  moment's  hesitation  they  considered  one  another 
with  an  increasing  curiosity  that  slowly  became  tentative 
intelligence.  And  her  eyes  said  very  plainly  and  wick 
edly  to  Siward's :  "  Oho,  my  friend !  So  it  bores  you  to 
see  Mr.  Plank  monopolising  an  engaged  girl  who  belongs 
to  Howard  Quarrier !  " 

And  his  eyes,  wincing,  denying,  pretending  igno 
rance  too  late,  suddenly  narrowed  in  vexed  retaliation.: 
"  Speak  for  yourself,  my  lady !  You're  no  more  pleased 
than  I  am !  " 

The  next  moment  they  both  regretted  the  pale  flash 
of  telepathy.  There  had  been  something  wounded  in 
his  eyes ;  and  she  had  not  meant  that.  No ;  a  new  charity 
for  the  hapless  had  softened  her  wonderfully  within  a 
fortnight's  time,  and  a  self-pity,  not  entirely  ignoble, 
had  subdued  the  brilliancy  of  her  dark  eyes,  and  made 
her  tongue  more  gentle  in  dealing  with  all  failings.  Be- 

186 


PERSUASION 


sides,  she  was  not  yet  perfectly  certain  what  ailed  her, 
never  having  really  cared  for  any  one  man  before.  No, 
she  was  not  at  all  certain.  .  .  .  But  in  the  meanwhile 
she  was  very  sorry  for  herself,  and  for  all  those  who 
drained  the  bitter  cup  that  might  yet  pass  from  her 
shrinking  lips.  Who  knows !  "  Stephen,"  she  said 
under  her  breath,  "  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you.  .  .  . 
Don't  scowl.  Listen.  I  have  already  entirely  forgotten 
the  nature  of  my  offense.  Pax,  if  you  please." 

He  refused  to  understand ;  and  she  understood  that, 
too;  and  she  gazed  critically  upon  Sylvia  Landis  as 
a  very  young  mother  might  inspect  a  rival  infant  with 
whom  her  matchless  offspring  was  coquetting. 

Then,  without  appearing  to,  she  took  Plank  away 
from  temptation ;  so  skilfully  that  nobody  except  Siward 
understood  that  the  young  man  had  been  incontinently 
removed.  He,  Plank,  never  doubting  that  he  was  a  per 
fectly  free  agent,  decided  that  the  time  had  arrived  for 
triumphant  retirement.  It  had ;  but  Leila  Mortimer, 
not  he,  had  rendered  the  decision,  and  so  cleverly  that  it 
appeared  even  to  Plank  himself  that  he  had  dragged 
her  off  with  him  rather  masterfully.  Clearly  he  was 
becoming  a  devil  of  a  fellow ! 

Sylvia  turned  to  Siward,  glanced  up  at  him,  hesi 
tated,  and  began  to  laugh  consciously : 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  latest  sentimental  ac 
quisition  ?  " 

"  He'd  be  an  ornament  to  a  stock  farm,"  replied 
Siward,  out  of  humour. 

"  How  brutal  you  can  be !  "  she  mused,  smiling. 

"  Nonsense!     He's  a  plain  bounder,  isn't  he?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  .  .  .  Is  he?  He  struck  me  a  trifle 
appealingly — even  pathetically ;  they  usually  do,  that 
sort.  ...  As  though  the  trouble  they  took  could  ever 

187 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

be  worth  the  time  they  lose!  .  .  .  There  are  dozens  of 
men  I  know  who  are  far  less  presentable  than  this  highly 
coloured  and  robust  young  human  being;  and  yet  they 
are  part  of  the  accomplished  scheme  of  things — like 
degenerate  horses,  you  know — always  pathetic  to  me; 
but  they're  still  horses,  for  all  that.  Quid  rides? 
Species  of  the  same  genus  can  cross,  of  course,  but  I  had 
rather  be  a  donkey  than  a  mule.  .  .  .  And  if  I  were  a 
donkey  I'd  sing  and  cavoort  with  my  own  kind,  and  let 
horses  flourish  their  own  heels  inside  the  accomplished 
scheme  of  things.  .  .  .  Now  /  have  been  brutal.  But — 
I'm  easily  coloured  by  my  environment." 

She  sat,  smiling  maliciously  down  at  the  water, 
smoothing  out  the  soaked  skirt  of  her  swimming  suit, 
and  swinging  her  legs  reflectively. 

"  Are  you  reconciled?  "  she  asked  presently. 

"To  what?" 

"  To  leaving  Shotover.  To-day  is  our  last  day,  you 
know.  To-morrow  we  all  go;  and  next  day  these  fa 
miliar  walls  will  ring  with  other  voices,  my  poor  friend : 

"  *  Yon  rising  moon  that  looks  for  us  again — 

How  oft  hereafter  will  she  wax  and  wane; 
How  oft  hereafter,  rising,  look  for  us 

Through  this  same  mansion — and  for  one  in  vain! ' ' 

"  That  is  I — the  one,  you  know.  You  may  be  here 
again ;  but  I — /  shall  not  be  I  if  I  ever  come  to  Shotover 
again." 

Her  stockinged  heels  beat  the  devil's  tattoo  against 
the  marble  sides  of  the  pool.  She  reached  up  above  her 
head,  drawing  down  a  flowering  branch  of  Japanese 
orange,  and  caressed  her  delicate  nose  with  the  white 
blossoms,  dreamily,  then,  mischievously :  "  I'm  accustom- 

188 


PERSUASION 


ing  myself  to  this  most  significant  perfume,"  she  said, 
looking  at  him  askance.  And  she  deliberately  hummed 
the  wedding  march,  watching  the  colour  rise  in  his  sullen 
face. 

"  If  you  had  the  courage  of  a  sparrow  you'd  make 
life  worth  something  for  us  both,"  he  said. 

"  I  know  it ;  I  haven't ;  but  I  seem  to  possess  the 
remainder  of  his  lordship's  traits — inconsequence,  self- 
centred  selfishness,  the  instinct  for  Fifth  Avenue  nest- 
building — all  the  feathered  vices,  all  the  unlovely  per 
sonality  and  futility  and  uselessness  of  my  prototype. 
.  .  .  Only,  as  you  observe,  I  lack  the  quality  of 
courage." 

"  I  don't  know  how  much  courage  it  requires  to  do 
what  you're  going  to  do,"  he  said  sulkily. 

"  Don't  you?  Sometimes,  when  you  wear  a  scowl 
like  that,  I  think  that  it  may  require  no  more  courage 
than  I  am  capable  of.  ...  And  sometimes — I  don't 
know." 

She  crossed  her  knees,  one  slender  ankle  imprisoned  in 
her  hand,  leaning  forward  thoughtfully  above  the  water. 

"  Our  last  day,"  she  mused ;  "  for  we  shall  never  be 
just  you  and  I  again — never  again,  my  friend,  after  we 
leave  this  rocky  coast  of  Eden.  ...  I  shall  have  hints 
of  you  in  the  sea-wind  and  the  sound  of  the  sea ;  in  the 
perfume  of  autumn  woods,  in  the  whisper  of  stirring 
leaves  when  the  white  birches  put  on  their  gold  crowns 
next  year."  She  smiled,  turning  to  him,  a  little 
gravely :  "  When  the  Lesser  Children  return  with  April, 
I  shall  not  forget  you,  Mr.  Siward,  nor  forget  your 
mercy  of  a  day  on  them ;  nor  your  comradeship,  nor  your 
sweetness  to  me.  .  .  .  Nor  your  charity  for  me,  nor  all 
that  you  overlook  so  far  in  me, — under  the  glamour  of  a 
gpell  that  seems  to  hold  you  still,  and  that  still  holds  me. 

189 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 


...  I  can  answer  for  my  const ancy  so  far,  until  one 
more  spring  and  summer  have  come  and  gone — until  one 
more  autumn  comes,  and  while  it  lasts — as  long  as  any 
semblance  of  the  setting  remains  which  had  once  framed 
you;  I  can  answer  for  my  constancy  as  long  as  that. 
.  .  .  Afterwards,  the  snow ! — symbol  of  our  separation. 
I  am  to  be  married  a  year  from  November  first." 

He  looked  up  at  her  in  dark  surprise,  for  he  had  heard 
that  their  wedding  date  had  been  set  for  the  coming 
winter. 

"  A  year's  engagement?  "  he  repeated,  unconvinced. 

"  It  was  my  wish.  I  think  that  is  sufficient  for  every 
body  concerned."  Then,  averting  her  face,  which  had 
suddenly  lost  a  little  of  its  colour :  "  A  year  is  little 
enough,"  she  said  impatiently.  "  I — what  has  hap 
pened  to  us  requires  an  interval — a  decent  interval  for  its 
burial.  .  .  .  Death  is  respectable  in  any  form.  What 
dies  between  you  and  me  can  have  no  resurrection  .  .  . 
under  the  snow.  ...  So  I  bring  to  the  burial  my  tribute 
— a  year  of  life,  a  year  of  constancy,  my  friend ;  symbol 
of  an  eternity  I  could  have  given  you  had  I  been  worth 
it."  She  looked  up,  flushed,  the  forced  smile  stamped  on 
lips  still  trembling.  "  Sentiment  in  such  a  woman  as  I ! 
*  A  spectacle  for  Gods  and  men,'  you  are  saying — are 
you  not?  And  perhaps  sentiment  with  me  is  only  an 
ancient  instinct,  a  latent  ancestral  quality  for  which 
I,  ages  later,  have  no  use."  She  was  laughing  easily. 
"  No  use  for  sentiment,  as  our  bodies  have  no  use  for  that 
fashionable  little  cul-de-sac,  you  know,  though  wise  men 
say  it  once  served  its  purpose,  too.  .  .  .  Stephen  Siward, 
what  do  you  think  of  me  now?  " 

"  I  am  learning,"  he  replied  simply. 

"  What,  if  you  please?  " 

"  Learning  a  little  about  what  I  am  losing." 
190 


PERSUASION 


"  You  mean — me?  " 

"  Yes." 

She  bent  forward  impulsively,  balancing  her  body  on 
the  pool's  rim  with  both  arms,  dropping  her  knee  until  her 
ankles  swung  interlocked  above  the  water.  "  Listen," 
she  said  in  a  low,  distinct  voice :  "  What  you  lose  is  no 
other  man's  gain !  If  I  warm  and  expand  in  your  pres 
ence — if  I  say  clever  things  sometimes — if  I  am  intelli 
gent,  sympathetic,  and  amusing — it  is  because  of  you. 
You  inspire  it  in  me.  Normally  I  am  the  sort  of  girl 
you  first  met  at  the  station.  I  tell  you  that  I  don't  know 
myself  now — that  I  have  not  known  myself  since  I  knew 
you.  Qualities  of  understanding,  ability  to  appreciate, 
to  express  myself  without  employing  the  commonplaces, 
subtleties  of  intercourse — all,  maybe,  were  latent  in  me, 
but  sterile,  until  you  came  into  my  life.  .  .  .  And  when 
you  go,  then,  lacking  impulse  and  incentive,  the  new 
facility,  the  new  sensitive  alertness,  the  unconscious  self- 
confidence,  all  will  smoulder  and  die  out  in  me.  ...  I 
know  it;  I  realise  that  it  was  due  to  you — part  of  me 
that  I  should  never  have  known,  of  which  I  should  have 
remained  totally  ignorant,  had  it  not  blossomed  sud 
denly,  stimulated  by  you  alone." 

Slowly  the  clouded  seriousness  of  her  blue  eyes 
cleared,  and  the  smile  began  to  glimmer  again.  "  That 
is  your  revenge;  you  recommit  me  to  my  commonplace 
self;  you  restore  me  to  my  tinsel  career,  practically  a 
dolt.  Shame  on  you,  Stephen  Siward,  to  treat  a  poor 
girl  so!  ...  But  it's  just  as  well.  Blunted  percep 
tions,  according  to  our  needs,  you  know;  and  so  life  is 
tempered  for  us  all,  else  we  might  not  endure  it  long. 
...  A  pleasantly  morbid  suggestion  for  a  day  like  this, 
is  it  not?  .  .  .  Shall  we  take  a  farewell  plunge,  and 
dress?  You  know  we  say  good-bye  to-morrow." 

191 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  Where  do  you  go  from  here?  " 

"  To  Lenox ;  the  Claymores  have  asked  us  for  a 
week ;  after  that,  Hot  Springs  for  another  two  weeks  or 
so ;  after  that,  to  Oyster  Bay.  .  .  .  Mr.  Quarrier  opens 
his  house  on  Sedge  Point,"  she  added  demurely,  "  but  I 
don't  think  he  expects  to  invite  you  to  '  The  Sedges.'  ' 

"  How  long  do  you  stay  there? "  asked  Siward 
irritably. 

"  Until  we  go  to  town  in  December." 

"  What  will  you  find  to  do  all  that  time  in  Oyster 
Bay  ?  "  he  asked  more  irritably. 

"  What  a  premature  question !  The  yacht  is  there. 
Besides,  there's  the  usual  neighbourhood  hunting,  with 
the  usual  packs  and  inevitable  set;  the  usual  steeple- 
chasing  ;  the  usual  exchange  of  social  amenities ;  the  usual 
driving  and  riding ;  the  usual,  my  poor  friend,  the  usual, 
in  all  its  uncompromising  certainty.  .  .  .  And  what  are 
you  to  do  ?  " 

"When?" 

"  After  you  leave  here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  You  don't  know  where  you  are  going?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  town." 

"And  then?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Oh,  but  haven't  you  been  asked  somewhere?  You 
have,  of  course." 

"  Yes,  and  I  have  declined." 

"  Matters  of  business,"  she  inferred.     "  Too  bad !  " 

"  Oh,  no." 

"  Then,"  she  concluded,  laughing,  "  you  don't  care 
to  tell  me  where  you  are  going." 

"  No,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "  I  don't  care  to  tell 
you." 

192 


PERSUASION 


She  laughed  again  carelessly,  and,  placing  one  hand 
on  the  tiled  pavement,  sprang  lightly  to  her  feet. 

"  A  last  plunge?  "  she  asked,  as  he  rose  at  her  side. 

"  Yes,  one  last  plunge  together.  Deep !  Are  you 
ready?  " 

She  raised  her  white  arms  above  her  head,  finger-tips 
joined,  poised  an  instant  on  the  brink,  swaying  forward; 
then,  at  his  brief  word,  they  flashed  downward  together, 
cutting  the  crystalline  sea-water,  shooting  like  great  fish 
over  the  glass-tiled  bed,  shoulder  to  shoulder  under  the 
water;  and  opening  their  eyes,  they  turned  toward  one 
*another  with  a  swift  outstretch  of  hands,  an  uncontrol 
lable  touch  of  lips,  the  very  shadow  of  contact;  then 
cleaving  upward,  rising  to  the  surface  to  lie  breathlessly 
floating,  arms  extended,  and  the  sun  filtering  down 
through  the  ground-glass  roof  above. 

"  We  are  perfectly  crazy,"  she  breathed.  "  I'm 
quite  mad ;  I  see  that.  On  land  it's  bad  enough  for  us 
to  misbehave ;  but  submarine  sentiment !  We'll  be  grow 
ing  scales  and  tails  presently.  .  .  .  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  a  Southern  bird — a  sort  of  hawk,  I  think — that  al 
most  never  alights;  that  lives  and  eats  and  sleeps  its 
whole  life  away  on  the  wing?  and  even  its  courtship, 
and  its  honeymoon?  Grace  Ferrall  pointed  one  out  to 
me  last  winter,  near  Palm  Beach — a  slender  bird,  part 
black,  part  snowy  white,  with  long,  pointed,  delicate 
wings  like  an  enormous  swallow ;  and  all  day,  all  night, 
it  floats  and  soars  and  drifts  in  the  upper  air,  never  rest 
ing,  never  alighting  except  during  its  brief  nesting  sea 
son.  .  .  .  Think  of  the  exquisite  bliss  of  drifting  one's 
life  through  in  mid-air — to  sleep,  balanced  on  light 
wings,  upborne  by  invisible  currents  flowing  under  the 
stars — to  sail  dreamily  through  the  long  sunshine,  to 
float  under  the  moon !  .  .  .  And  at  last,  I  suppose,  when 

193 


THE  FIGHTING   CHANCE 

its  time  has  come,  down  it  whirls  out  of  the  sky,  stone 
dead !  .  .  .  There  is  something  thrilling  in  such  a  death 
— something  magnificent.  .  .  .  And  in  the  exquisitely 
spiritual  honeymoon,  vague  as  the  shadow  of  a  rainbow, 
is  the  very  essence  and  aroma  of  that  impalpable  Para 
dise  we  women  prophesy  in  dreams!  .  .  .  More  senti 
ment!  Heigho!  My  brother  is  the  weeping  crocodile, 
and  the  five  winds  are  my  wits.  .  .  .  Shall  we  dress? 
Even  with  a  maid  and  the  electric  air-blast  it  will  take 
time  to  dry  my  hair  and  dress  it." 

When  he  came  out  of  his  dressing-room  she  was  ap 
parently  still  in  the  hands  of  the  maid.  So  he  sauntered 
through  the  house  as  far  as  the  library,  and  drawing  a 
cheque-book  from  one  pocket,  fished  out  a  memorandum- 
book  from  another,  and  began  to  cast  up  totals  with  a 
view  to  learning  something  about  the  various  debts  con 
tracted  at  Shotover. 

He  seemed  to  owe  everybody.  Fortune  had  smitten 
him  hip  and  thigh ;  and,  a  trifle  concerned,  he  began  cov 
ering  a  pad  with  figures  until  he  knew  where  he  stood. 
Then  he  drew  a  considerable  cheque  to  Major  Belwether's 
order,  another  to  Alderdene.  Others  followed  to  other 
people  for  various  amounts ;  and  he  was  very  busily  at 
work  when,  aware  of  another  presence  near,  he  turned 
around  in  his  chair.  Sylvia  Landis  was  writing  at  a 
desk  in  the  corner,  and  she  looked  up,  nodding  the  little 
greeting  that  she  always  reserved  for  him  even  after  five 
minutes'  separation. 

"  I'm  writing  cheques,"  she  said.  "  I  suppose  you're 
writing  to  your  mother." 

"  Why  do  you  think  so?  "  he  asked  curiously. 

"  You  write  to  her  every  day,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  but  how  do  you  know?  " 
194 


PERSUASION 


She  looked  at  him  with  unblushing  deliberation. 
"  You  wrote  every  day.  ...  If  it  was  to  a  woman,  I 
wanted  to  know.  .  .  .  And  I  told  Grace  Ferrall  that  it 
worried  me.  And  then  Grace  told  me.  Is  there  any 
other  confession  of  my  own  pettiness  that  I  can  make  to 
you." 

"  Did  you  really  care  to  whom  I  was  writing  ?  "  he 
asked  slowly. 

"  Care?  I — it  worried  me.  Was  it  not  a  pitifully 
common  impulse?  '  Sisters  under  our  skin,'  you  know 
— I  and  the  maid  who  dresses  me.  She  would  have 
snooped;  /  didn't;  that's  the  only  generic  difference.  I 
wanted  to  know  just  the  same.  .  .  .  But — that  was 
before " 

"Before  what?" 

"  Before  I — please  don't  ask  me  to  say  it.  ...  I 
did,  once,  when  you  asked  me." 

"  Before  you  cared  for  me.  Is  that  what  you 
mean?  " 

"  Yes.  You  are  so  cruelly  literal  when  you  wish  to 
punish  me.  .  .  .  You  are  interrupting  me,  too.  I  owe 
that  wretched  Kemp  Ferrall  a  lot  of  money,  and  I'm  try 
ing  to  find  out  how  much  seven  and  nine  are,  to  close 
accounts  with  Marion  Page." 

Siward  turned  and  continued  his  writing.  And  when 
the  little  sheaf  of  cheques  was  ready  he  counted  them, 
laid  them  aside,  and,  drawing  a  flat  packet  of  fresh  bank 
notes  from  his  portfolio,  counted  out  the  tips  expected 
of  him  below  stairs.  These  arranged  for,  he  straightened 
up  and  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  Sylvia,  but  she  was 
apparently  absorbed  in  counting  something  on  the  ends 
of  her  fingers,  so  he  turned  smilingly  to  his  desk  and 
wrote  a  long  letter  to  his  mother — the  same  tender,  af 
fectionately  boyish  letter  he  had  always  written  her,  full 

195 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

of  confidences,  full  of  humour,  gaily  anticipating  his  own 
return  to  her  on  the  heels  of  the  letter. 

In  his  first  letter  to  her  from  Shotover  he  had  spoken 
casually  of  a  Miss  Landis.  It  seemed  the  name  was 
familiar  enough  to  his  mother,  who  asked  about  her ;  and 
he  had  replied  in  another  letter  or  two,  a  trifle  emphatic 
in  his  praise  of  her,  because  from  his  mother's  letters  it 
was  quite  evident  that  she  knew  a  good  deal  concerning 
the  very  unconventional  affairs  of  Sylvia's  family. 

Of  his  swift  and  somewhat  equivocal  courtship  he 
had  had  nothing  to  say  in  his  letters ;  in  fact  recently  he 
had  nothing  to  say  about  Sylvia  at  all,  reserving  that 
vital  confidence  for  the  clear  sympathy  and  understand 
ing  which  he  looked  forward  to  when  he  should  see  her, 
and  which,  through  dark  days  and  bitter  aftermaths, 
through  struggle  and  defeat  by  his  master-vice,  had 
never  failed  him  yet,  never  faltered  for  an  instant. 

So  he  brought  his  letter  to  a  close  with  a  tender  and 
uneasy  inquiry  concerning  her  health,  which,  she  had  in 
timated,  was  not  exactly  satisfactory,  and  for  that  rea 
son  she  had  opened  the  house  in  town  in  order  to  be  near 
Dr.  Grisby,  their  family  doctor. 

Sealing  and  directing  the  letter,  he  looked  up  to  see 
Sylvia  standing  at  his  elbow.  She  dropped  a  light  hand 
on  his  shoulder  for  a  second,  barely  touching  him — a 
fugitive  caress,  delicate  as  the  smile  hovering  on  her  lips, 
as  the  shy  tenderness  in  her  eyes. 

"  More  letters  to  your  sweetheart? "  she  asked, 
abandoning  her  hand  to  him. 

"  One  more — the  last  before  I  see  her.  ...  I  wish 
you  could  see  her,  Sylvia." 

"  I  wish  so,  too,"  she  answered  simply,  seating  her 
self  on  the  arm  of  his  chair  as  though  it  were  a  side 
saddle. 

196 


PERSUASION 


They  sat  there  very  silent  for  a  few  moments,  curi 
ously  oblivious  to  the  chance  curiosity  of  any  one  who 
might  enter  or  pass. 

"  Would  she — care  for  me — do  you  think  ?  "  asked 
the  girl  in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  think  so, — for  your  real  self." 

"  I  know.  She  could  only  feel  contempt  for  me — as 
I  am." 

"  She  is  old-fashioned,"  he  said  reverently. 

"  That  means  all  that  is  best  in  a  woman.  .  .  .  The 
old  fashion  of  truth  and  faith ;  the  old  fashion  of  honour, 
and  faith  in  honour ;  the  old,  old  fashion  of — love.  .  .  . 
All  that  is  best,  Stephen ;  all  that  is  worth  the  love  of  a 
man.  .  .  .  Some  day  somebody  will  revive  those  fash 
ions." 

"Will  you?" 

"  Dear,  they  would  not  become  me,"  she  said,  the 
tenderness  in  her  eyes  deepening  a  little ;  and  she  touched 
his  head  lightly  in  humourous  caress. 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  the  waning  daylight  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  It  is  my  last  day  with  you.  I  told  Howard  it 
was  my  last  day  with  you,  and  I  did  not  care  to  be  dis 
turbed." 

"  You  probably  didn't  say  it  that  way,"  he  com 
mented,  amused. 

"  I  did." 

"  How  much  of  that  sort  of  thing  is  he  prepared  to 
stand?  "  asked  Siward  curiously. 

"How  much?  I  don't  know.  I  don't  believe  he  cares. 
It  is  my  uncle,  Major  Belwether,  who  is  making  things 
unpleasant  for  me.  I  had  to  tell  Howard,  you  know." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Siward  incredulously. 

"  Certainly.  Do  you  think  my  conduct  has  passed 
without  protest  ?  " 

197 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 


"  You  told  Quarrier !  "  he  repeated. 

"  Did  you  imagine  I  could  do  otherwise?  "  she  asked 
coolly.  "  I  have  that  much  decency  left.  Certainly  I 
told  him.  Do  you  suppose  that,  after  what  we  did — 
what  I  admitted  to  you — that  I  could  meet  him  as  usual  ? 
Do  you  think  I  am  afraid  of  him?  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  afraid  of  losing  him,"  muttered 
Siward. 

"  I  was,  dreadfully.  And  the  morning  after  you 
and  I  had  been  imprudent  enough  to  sit  up  until  nearly 
daylight — and  do  what  we  did — I  made  him  take  a  long 
walk  with  me,  and  I  told  him  plainly  that  I  cared  for 
you,  that  I  was  too  selfish  and  cowardly  to  marry  you, 
and  that  if  he  couldn't  endure  the  news  he  was  at  liberty 
to  terminate  the  engagement  without  notice." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  "  stammered  Siward. 

"  A  number  of  practical  things." 

"  You  mean  to  say  he  stands  it !  " 

"  It  appears  so.  What  else  is  there  for  him  to  do, 
unless  he  breaks  the  engagement  ?  " 

"And  he— hasn't?" 

"  No.  I  was  informed  that  he  held  me  strictly  and 
precisely  to  my  promise ;  that  he  would  never  release  me 
voluntarily,  though  I  was,  of  course,  at  liberty  to  do 
what  I  chose.  .  .  .  My  poor  friend,  he  cares  no  more  for 
love  than  do  I.  I  happen  to  be  the  one  woman  in  New 
York  whom  he  considers  absolutely  suitable  for  him;  by 
race,  by  breeding,  by  virtue  of  appearance  and  presence, 
eminently  fitted  to  complete  the  material  portion  of  his 
fortune  and  estate." 

Her  voice  had  hardened  as  she  spoke ;  now  it  rang  a 
little  at  the  end,  and  she  laughed  unpleasantly. 

"  It  appears  that  I  was  a  little  truer  to  myself  than 
you  gave  me  credit  for — a  little  truer  to  you — a  little 

198 


It  seems  that   I   am  capable  of  love  ;   but  I   am 
incapable  of  its  degradation.'  ' 


PERSUASION 


less  treacherous,  less  shameless,  than  you  must  have 
thought  me.  But  I  have  gone  to  my  limit  of  decency ; 
.  .  .  and,  were  I  ten  times  more  in  love  with  you  than  I 
am,  I  could  not  put  away  the  position  and  power  offered 
me.  But  I  will  not  lie  for  it,  nor  betray  for  it.  ...  Do 
you  remember,  once  you  asked  me  for  what  reasons  I 
dropped  men  from  my  list?  And  I  told  you,  because  of 
any  falsehood  or  treachery,  any  betrayal  of  trust — and 
for  no  other  reason.  You  remember?  And  did  you 
suppose  that  elemental  standard  of  decency  did  not  in 
clude  women — even  such  a  woman  as  I  ?  " 

She  dropped  one  arm  on  the  back  of  his  chair 
and  rested  her  chin  on  it,  staring  at  space  across  his 
shoulders. 

"  That's  how  it  had  to  be,  you  see,  when  I  found  that 
I  cared  for  you.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  tell 
him.  I  was  quite  certain  that  it  was  all  off ;  but  I  found 
that  I  didn't  know  the  man.  I  knew  he  was  sensitive,  but 
I  didn't  know  he  was  sensitive  to  personal  ridicule  only, 
and  to  nothing  else  in  all  the  world  that  I  can  discover.  I 
— I  suppose,  from  my  frankness  to  him,  he  has  concluded 
that  no  ridicule  could  ever  touch  him  through  me.  I 
mean,  he  trusts  me  enough  to  marry  me.  .  .  .  He  will  be 
safe  enough,  as  far  as  my  personal  conduct  is  concerned," 
she  added  naively.  "  It  seems  that  I  am  capable  of  love ; 
but  I  am  incapable  of  its  degradation." 

Siward,  leaning  heavily  forward  over  his  desk,  rested 
his  head  in  both  hands ;  and  she  stooped  from  her  perch 
on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  pressing  her  hot  cheeks  against 
his  hands — a  moment  only ;  then  slipping  to  her  feet,  she 
curled  up  in  a  great  arm-chair  by  the  fire,  head  tipped 
back,  blue  gaze  concentrated  on  him. 

"  The  thing  for  you  to  do,"  she  said,  "  is  to  ambush 
me  some  night,  and  throw  me  into  a  hansom,  and  drive 
14  199 


THE    FIGHTING    CHANCE 

us  both  to  the  parson's.  I'd  hate  you  for  it  as  much  as 
I'd  love  you,  but  I'd  make  you  an  interesting  wife." 

"  I  may  do  that  yet,"  he  said,  lifting  his  head  from 
his  hands. 

"  You've  a  year  to  do  it  in,"  she  observed.  .  .  .  By 
the  way,  you're  to  take  me  in  to  dinner,  as  you  did  the 
first  night.  Do  you  remember?  I  asked  Grace  Ferrall 
then.  I  asked  her  again  to-day.  Heigho !  It  was 
years  ago,  wasn't  it,  that  I  drove  up  to  the  station  and 
saw  a  very  attractive  and  perplexed  young  man  looking 
anxiously  about  for  somebody  to  take  him  to  Shotover. 
Ahem !  the  notorious  Mr.  Siward !  Dear,  ...  I  didn't 
mean  to  hurt  you !  You  know  it,  silly !  Mayn't  I  have 
my  little  joke  about  your  badness — your  redoubtable  bad 
ness  of  reputation?  There !  You  had  just  better  smile. 
.  .  .  How  dare  you  frighten  me  by  making  me  think 
I  had  hurt  you!  .  .  .  Besides,  you  are  probably  un 
repentant." 

She  watched  him  closely  for  a  moment  or  two,  then, 
"  Are  you  unrepentant?  " 

"About  what?" 

"  About  your  general  wickedness  ?  About — "  she 
hesitated — "  about  that  girl,  for  example." 

"  What  girl?  "  he  asked  coldly. 

"  That  reminds  me  that  you  have  told  me  absolutely 
nothing  about  her." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  tell,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  so 
utterly  new  to  her  in  its  finality  that  she  sat  up  as 
though  listening  to  an  unknown  voice. 

Tone  and  words  so  completely  excluded  her  from  the 
new  intimacy  into  which  she  had  imperceptibly  drifted 
that  both  suddenly  developed  a  significance  from  sheer 
contrast.  Who  was  this  girl,  then,  of  whom  he  had  abso 
lutely  nothing  to  say?  What  was  she  to  him?  What 

200 


PERSUASION 


could  she  be  to  him — an  actress,  a  woman  of  common 
antecedents  ? 

She  had  sometimes  idly  speculated  in  an  indefinitely 
innocent  way  as  to  just  what  a  well-born  man  could  find 
to  interest  him  in  such  women ;  what  he  could  have  to  talk 
about  to  persons  of  that  sort,  where  community  of  tastes 
and  traditions  must  be  so  absolutely  lacking. 

Gossip,  scandal  ef  that  nature,  hints,  silences,  innu 
endoes,  the  wise  shrugs  of  young  girls  oversophisticated, 
the  cool,  hard  smiles  of  matrons,  all  had  left  her  indiffer 
ent  or  bored,  partly  from  distaste,  partly  from  sheer  in 
credulity;  a  refusal  to  understand,  an  innate  delicacy 
that  not  only  refrains  from  comprehension,  but  also  de 
nies  itself  even  the  curiosity  to  inquire  or  the  temptation 
of  vaguest  surmise  on  a  subject  that  could  not  exist  for 
her. 

But  now,  something  of  the  uncomfortable  uneasiness 
had  come  over  her  which  she  had  been  conscious  of  when 
made  aware  of  Marion  Page's  worldly  wisdom,  and  which 
had  imperceptibly  chilled  her  when  Grace  Ferrall  spoke 
of  Siward's  escapade,  coupling  this  woman  and  him  in 
the  same  scandal. 

She  took  it  for  granted  that  there  must  be,  for  men, 
an  attraction  toward  women  who  figured  publicly  behind 
the  foot-lights,  though  it  appeared  very  silly  to  her.  In 
fact  it  all  was  silly  and  undignified — part  and  parcel,  no 
doubt,  of  that  undergraduate  foolishness  which  seemed 
to  cling  to  some  men  who  had  otherwise  attained 
discretion. 

But  it  appeared  to  her  that  Si  ward  had  taken  the 
matter  with  a  seriousness  entirely  out  of  proportion  in 
his  curt  closure  of  the  subject,  and  she  felt  a  little  irri 
tated,  a  little  humiliated,  a  little  hurt,  and  tool"  refuge 
in  a  silence  that  he  did  not  offer  to  break. 

201 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Early  twilight  had  fallen  in  the  room;  the  firelight 
grew  redder. 

"  Sylvia,"  he  said  abruptly,  reverting  to  the  old, 
light  tone  hinting  of  the  laughter  in  his  eyes  which  she 
could  no  longer  see,  "  Suppose,  as  you  suggested,  I  did 
ambush  you — say  after  the  opera — seize  you  under  the 
very  nose  of  your  escort  and  make  madly  for  a  hansom  ?  " 

"  I  know  of  no  other  way,"  she  said  demurely. 

"  Would  you  resist,  physically  ?  " 

"  I  would,  if  nobody  were  looking." 

"Desperately?" 

"How  do  I  know?  Besides,  it  couldn't  last  long," 
she  said,  thinking  of  his  slimly  powerful  build  as  she  had 
noticed  it  in  his  swimming  costume.  Smiling,  amused, 
she  wondered  how  long  she  could  resist  him  with  her  own 
wholesome  supple  activity  strengthened  to  the  perfection 
of  health  in  saddle  and  afoot. 

"  I  should  advise  you  to  chloroform  me,"  she  said 
defiantly.  "  You  don't  realise  my  accomplishments  with 
the  punching-bag." 

"  So  you  mean  to  resist?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do.  If  I  were  going  to  surrender  at  once, 
I  might  as  well  go  off  to  church  with  you  now." 

"  Wenniston  church !  "  he  said  promptly.  "  I'll 
order  the  Mercedes." 

She  laughed,  lazily  settling  herself  more  snugly  by 
the  fire.  "Suppose  it  were  our  fire?"  she  smiled. 
4*  There  would  be  a  dog  lying  across  that  rug,  and  a 
comfortable  Angora  tabby  dozing  by  the  fender,  and — 
you,  cross-legged,  at  my  feet,  with  that  fascinating  head 
of  yours  tipped  back  against  my  knees." 

The  laughter  in  her  voice  died  out,  and  he  had  risen, 
saying  unsteadily :  "  Don't !  I — I  can't  stand  that 
sort  of  thing,  you  know." 

202 


PERSUASION 


She  had  made  a  mistake,  too ;  she  also  had  suddenly 
become  aware  of  her  own  limits  in  the  same  direction. 

"  Forgive  me,  dear !     I  meant  no  mockery." 

"  I  know.  .  .  .  After  a  while  a  man  finds  laughter 
difficult." 

"  I  was  not  laughing  at — anything.  I  was  only  pre 
tending  to  be  happy." 

"  Your  happiness  is  before  you,"  he  said  sullenly. 

"  My  future,  you  mean.  You  know  I  am  exchang 
ing  one  for  the  other.  .  .  .  And  some  day  you  will  awake 
to  the  infamy  of  it ;  you  will  comprehend  the  depravity 
of  the  monstrous  trade  I  made.  .  .  .  And  then — and 
then " 

She  passed  one  slim  hand  over  her  face — "  then  you 
will  shake  yourself  free  from  this  dream  of  me;  then, 
awake,  my  punishment  at  your  hands  will  begin.  .  .  . 
Dear,  no  man  in  his  right  senses  can  continue  to  love  a 
girl  such  as  I  am.  All  that  is  true  and  ardent  and  gen 
erous  in  you  has  invested  my  physical  attractiveness  and 
my  small  intellect  with  a  magic  that  cannot  last,  because 
it  is  magic ;  and  you  are  the  magician,  enmeshed  for  the 
moment  in  the  mists  of  your  own  enchantment.  When 
this  fades,  when  you  unclose  your  eyes  in  clear  day 
light,  dear,  I  dread  to  think  what  I  shall  appear  to 
you — what  a  dreadful,  shrunken,  bloodless  shell,  hung 
with  lace  and  scented,  silken  cerements — a  jewelled  mum 
my-case — a  thing  that  never  was !  .  .  .  Do  you  under 
stand  my  punishment  a  little,  now  ?  " 

"  If  it  were  true,"  he  said  in  a  dull  voice,  "  you  will 
have  forgotten,  too." 

"  I  pray  I  may,"  she  said  under  her  breath. 

And,  after  a  long  silence :  "  Do  you  think,  before  the 
year  is  out,  that  you  might  be  granted  enough  cour 
age?  "  he  asked. 

203 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  No.  I  shall  not  even  pray  for  it.  I  want  what 
is  offered  me !  I  desire  it  so  blindly  that  already  it  has 
become  part  of  me.  I  tell  you  the  poison  is  in  every  vein ; 
there  is  nothing  else  but  poison  in  me.  I  am  what  I 
tell  you,  to  the  core.  It  is  past  my  own  strength 
of  will  to  stop  me,  now.  If  I  am  stopped,  another 
must  do  it.  My  weakness  for  you,  being  a  treachery 
if  not  confessed,  I  was  obliged  to  confess,  horribly 
frightened  as  I  was.  He  might  have  stopped  me;  he 
did  not.  .  .  .  And  now,  what  is  there  on  earth  to  halt 
me?  Love  cannot.  Common  decency  and  courage  can 
not.  Fear  of  your  unhappiness  and  mine  cannot.  No, 
even  the  certitude  of  your  contempt,  some  day,  is  power 
less  to  halt  me  now.  I  could  not  love ;  I  am  utterly  in 
capable  of  loving  you  enough  to  balance  the  sacrifice. 
And  that  is  final." 

Grace  Ferrall  came  into  the  room  and  found  a  duel 
of  silence  in  progress  under  the  dull  fire-glow  tinting 
the  ceiling. 

"Another  quarrel,"  she  commented,  turning  on  the 
current  of  the  drop-light  above  the  desk  from  which  Si- 
ward  had  risen  at  her  entrance.  "  You  quarrel  enough 
to  marry.  Why  don't  you?  " 

"  I  wish  we  could,"  said  Sylvia  simply. 

Grace  laughed.  "  What  a  little  fool  you  are !  "  she 
said  tenderly,  seating  herself  in  Siward's  chair  and  drop 
ping  one  hand  over  his  where  it  rested  on  the  arm. 
"  Stephen,  can't  you  make  her — a  big,  strong  fellow  like 
you  ?  Oh,  well ;  on  your  heads  be  it !  My  conscience  is 
now  clear  for  the  first  time,  and  I'll  never  meddle  again." 
She  gave  Siward's  hand  a  perfunctory  pat  and  released 
him  with  a  discreetly  stifled  yawn.  "  I'm  disgracefully 
sleepy ;  the  wind  blew  like  fury  along  the  coast.  Sylvia, 

204 


PERSUASION 


have  you  had  a  good  time  at  Shotover — the  time  of  your 
life?" 

Sylvia  raised  her  eyes  and  encountered  Siward's. 

"  I  certainly  have,"  she  said  faintly. 

"  C'est  bien,  cherie.  Can  you  be  as  civil,  Stephen — 
conscientiously?  Oh,  that  is  very  nice  of  you!  But 
there's  one  thing:  why  on  earth  didn't  you  make  eyes  at 
Marion?  Life  might  be  one  long,  blissful  carnival  of 
horse  and  dog  for  you  both.  Oh,  dear !  there,  I'm  med 
dling  again !  Pinch  me,  Sylvia,  if  I  ever  begin  to  meddle 
again!  How  did  you  come  out  at  Bridge,  Stephen? 
What — bad  as  that?  Gracious!  this  is  disgraceful — 
this  gambling  the  way  people  do !  I'm  shocked  and  I'm 
going  up  to  dress.  Are  you  coming,  Sylvia?  " 

The  dinner  was  very  gay.  The  ceremony  of  christ 
ening  the  Shotover  Cup,  which  Quarrier  had  won,  pro 
ceeded  with  presentation  speech  and  a  speech  of  accept 
ance  faultlessly  commonplace,  during  which  Quarrier 
wore  his  smile — which  was  the  only  humorous  thing  he 
contributed. 

The  cup  was  full.  Siward  eyed  it,  perplexed,  deadly 
afraid,  yet  seeing  no  avenue  of  escape  from  what  must 
appear  a  public  exhibition  of  contempt  for  Quarrier  if 
he  refused  to  taste  its  contents.  That  meant  a  bad 
night  for  him ;  yet  he  shrank  more  from  the  certain  mis 
interpretation  of  a  refusal  to  drink  from  the  huge  lov 
ing-cup  with  its  heavy  wreath  of  scented  orchids,  now 
already  on  its  way  toward  him,  than  he  feared  the  wak 
ing  struggle  so  sure  to  follow. 

Marion  received  the  cup,  lifted  it  in  both  hands,  and 
said  distinctly,  "  Good  Hunting !  "  as  she  drank  to  Quar 
rier.  Her  brother  Gordon  took  it,  and  drank  entirely 
too  much.  Then  Sylvia  lifted  it,  her  white  hands  half 

205 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

buried  among  the  orchids :  "  To  you, !  "  she  murmured 
for  Siward's  ear  alone ;  then  drank  gaily,  mischievously, 
"  To  the  best  shot  at  Shotover !  "  And  Siward  took  the 
cup :  "  I  salute  victory,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  always,  and 
everywhere !  To  him  who  takes  the  fighting  chance  and 
wins  out !  To  the  best  man !  Health !  "  And  he  drank 
as  a  gentleman  drinks,  with  a  gay  bow  to  Quarrier,  and 
with  death  in  his  heart. 

Later,  the  irony  of  it  struck  him  so  grimly  that  he 
laughed ;  and  Sylvia,  beside  him,  looked  up,  dismayed  to 
see  the  gray  change  in  his  face. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  faltered,  catching  his  eye;  "  why 
do  you — why  are  you  so  white?  " 

But  he  only  smiled,  as  though  he  had  misunderstood, 
saying : 

"  The  survival  of  the  fittest ;  that  is  the  only  test, 
after  all.  The  man  who  makes  good  doesn't  whine  for 
justice.  There's  enough  of  it  in  the  world  to  go  round, 
and  he  who  misses  it  gets  all  that's  due  him  just  the 
same." 

Later,  at  cards,  the  aromatic  odour  from  Alderdene's 
decanter  roused  him  to  fierce  desire,  but  he  fought  it 
down  until  only  the  deadened,  tearing  ache  remained  to 
shake  and  loosen  every  nerve.  And  when  Ferrall,  finish 
ing  his  usual  batch  of  business  letters,  arrived  to  cut  in  if 
needed,  Siward  dropped  his  cards  with  a  shudder,  and 
rose  so  utterly  unnerved  that  Captain  Voucher,  noticing 
his  drawn  face,  asked  him  if  he  were  not  ill. 

He  was  leaving  on  an  earlier  train  than  the  others, 
having  decided  to  pass  through  Boston  and  Deptford,  at 
which  latter  place  he  meant  to  leave  Sagamore  for  the 
winter  in  care  of  the  manager  of  his  mother's  farm.  So 
he  took  a  quiet  leave  of  those  to  whom  the  civility  might 
not  prove  an  interruption — a  word  to  Alderdene  and 

206 


PERSUASION 


Voucher  as  he  passed  out,  a  quick  clasp  for  Ferrall  and 
for  Grace,  a  carefully  and  cordially  formal  parting 
from  the  Page  boys,  which  pleased  them  ineffably. 

Eileen  and  Rena,  who  had  never  had  half  a  chance 
at  him,  took  it  now,  delighted  to  discipline  their  faithful 
Pages;  and  he  submitted  in  his  own  engagingly  agree 
able  way,  and  so  skilfully  that  both  Eileen  and  Rena  felt 
sorry  that  they  had  not  earlier  understood  how  civilly 
anxious  he  had  been  to  devote  himself  to  them  alone. 
And  they  looked  at  the  Pages,  exasperated. 

In  the  big  hall  he  passed  Marion,  and  stopped  to 
take  his  leave. 

No,  he  would  do  no  hunting  this  season  either  at 
Carysford  or  with  the  two  trial  packs  at  Eastwood. 
Possibly  at  Warrenton  later,  but  probably  not ;  business 
threatened  to  detain  him  in  town  more  or  less.  .  .  .  Of 
course  he'd  come  to  see  her  when  she  returned  to  town. 
.  .  .  And  it  had  been  a  jolly  party,  and  it  was  a  shame 
to  sound  "  lights  out "  so  soon !  Good-bye.  .  .  .  Good 
night.  And  that  was  all. 

And  that  was  all,  unless  he  disturbed  Sylvia,  seated 
at  cards  with  Quarrier  and  Major  Belwether  and  Leila 
Mortimer — and  very  intent  on  the  dummy,  very  still,  and 
a  trifle  pallid  with  the  pallor  of  concentration. 

So — that  was  all,  then. 

Ascending  the  stairs,  a  servant  handed  him  a  letter 
bearing  the  crest  of  the  Lenox  Club.  He  pocketed  it 
unopened  and  continued  his  way. 

In  the  darkness  of  his  own  room  he  sat  down,  the 
devil's  own  clutch  on  his  shrinking  nerves,  a  deathly  de 
sire  tearing  at  his  very  vitals,  and  every  vein  a  tiny  trail 
of  fire  run  riot.  He  had  been  too  long  without  it,  too 
long  to  endure  the  craving  aroused  by  that  gay  draught 
from  Quarrier's  loving-cup. 

207 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

The  awakened  fury  of  his  desire  appalled  him,  and 
for  a  while  that  occupied  him,  enabling  him  to  endure. 
But  fear  and  dismay  soon  passed  in  the  purely  physical 
distress ;  he  walked  the  floor,  haggard,  the  sweat  starting 
on  his  face;  he  lay  with  clenched  hands,  stiffened  out 
across  the  bed,  deafened  by  the  riotous  clamour  of  his 
pulses,  conscious  that  he  was  holding  out,  unconscious 
how  long  he  could  hold  out. 

Crisis  after  crisis  swept  him ;  sometimes  he  found  his 
feet  and  moved  blindly  about  the  room. 

Strange  periods  of  calm  intervened ;  sensation  seemed 
deadened;  and  he  stood  as  a  man  who  listens,  scarce 
ly  daring  to  breathe  lest  the  enemy  awake  and  seize 
him. 

He  turned  on  the  light,  later,  to  look  for  his  pipe, 
and  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  himself  in  the  mirror.  It 
was  a  sick  man  who  stared  back  at  him  out  of  hollow  eyes, 
and  the  physical  revulsion  shocked  him  into  something 
resembling  self-command. 

"  Damn  you !  "  he  said  fiercely,  setting  his  teeth  and 
staring  back  at  his  reflected  face,  "  I'll  kill  you  yet  be 
fore  I've  finished  with  you !  " 

Then  he  filled  his  pipe,  and  opening  his  bedroom 
window,  sat  down,  resting  his  arm  on  the  sill.  A 
splendid  moon  silvered  the  sea ;  through  the  intense  still 
ness  he  heard  the  surf,  magnificently  dissonant  among  the 
reefs,  and  he  listened,  fascinated,  loathing  the  tides  as  he 
feared  and  loathed  the  inexorable  tides  that  surged  and 
ebbed  with  his  accursed  desire. 

Once  he  said  to  himself,  weakly — for  he  was  deadly 
tired — "  What  am  I  making  the  fight  for,  any  way  ?  " 
And  "  Who  are  you  making  the  fight  for?  "  echoed  his 
heavy  pulses. 

He  had  asked  that  question  and  received  that  answer 
208 


PERSUASION 


before.  After  all,  it  had  been  for  his  mother's  sake 
alone.  And  now — and  now  ? — his  heart  beat  out  another 
answer;  and  before  his  eyes  two  other  eyes  seemed  to 
open,  fearlessly,  sweetly,  divinely  tender.  But  they  were 
no  longer  his  mother's  grave,  gray  eyes. 

After  the  second  pipe  he  remembered  his  letter.  It 
gave  him  something  to  do,  so  he  opened  it  and  tried  to 
read  it,  but  for  a  long  while,  in  his  confused  physical  and 
mental  condition,  he  could  make  no  sense  of  it. 

Little  by  little  he  began  to  comprehend  its  purport 
that  his  resignation   was   regretfully  requested  by  the 
governors  of  the  Lenox  Club  for  reasons  unassigned. 

The  shock  of  the  thing  came  to  him  after  a  while, 
like  a  distant,  dull  report  long  after  the  flash  of  the  ex 
plosion.  Well,  the  affair,  bad  enough  at  first,  was  turn 
ing  worse,  that  was  all.  How  much  of  that  sort  of  dis 
credit  could  a  man  stand  and  keep  his  balance?  .  .  . 
And  what  would  his  mother  say  ? 

Confused  from  his  own  physical  suffering,  the  blow 
had  fallen  with  a  deadened  force  on  nerves  already 
numbed ;  but  his  half-stupefied  acquiescence  had  suddenly 
become  a  painful  recoil  when  he  remembered  where  the 
brunt  of  the  disgrace  would  fall — where  the  centre  of 
suffering  must  always  be,  and  the  keenest  grief  concen 
trated.  Roused,  appalled,  almost  totally  unnerved,  he 
stood  staring  at  the  letter,  beginning  to  realise  what  it 
would  mean  to  his  mother.  A  passion  of  remorse  and  re 
sentment  swept  him.  She  must  be  spared  that !  There 
must  be  some  way — some  punishment  for  his  offence  that 
could  not  strike  her  through  him !  It  was  wicked,  it 
was  contemptible,  insane,  to  strike  her !  What  were  the 
governors  of  the  Lenox  about — a  lot  of  snivelling  hypo 
crites,  pandering  to  the  horrified  snobbery  at  the  Pa- 
troons !  Who  were  they,  anyway,  to  discipline  him ! 

209 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Scarce  one  in  fifty  among  the  members  of  the  two  clubs 
were  qualified  to  sit  in  judgment  on  a  Siward! 

But  that  tempest  of  passion  and  mortification  passed, 
too,  leaving  him  standing  there,  dumb,  desperate,  staring 
at  the  letter  crushed  in  his  shaking  hand. 

He  must  see  somebody,  some  member  of  the  Lenox, 
and  do  something — something!  Ferrall !  Was  that 
Ferrall's  step  on  the  landing? 

He  sprang  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  Quarrier, 
passing  the  corridor,  turned  an  expressionless  visage 
toward  him,  and  passed  on  with  a  nod  almost  imper 
ceptible. 

"  Quarrier !  "  he  called,  swept  by  a  sudden  impulse. 

Quarrier  halted  and  turned. 

"  Could  you  give  me  a  moment — here  in  my  room  ? 
I  won't  detain  you." 

The  faint  trace  of  surprise  faded  from  Quarrier's 
face;  he  quietly  retraced  his  steps,  and.  entering  Si- 
ward's  room,  stood  silently  confronting  its  pallid  tenant. 

"  Will  you  sit  down  a  moment  ?  " 

Quarrier  seated  himself  in  the  arm-chair  by  the  win 
dow,  and  Siward  found  a  chair  opposite. 

"  Quarrier,"  said  the  younger  man,  turning  a 
tensely  miserable  face  on  his  visitor,  "  I  want  to  ask  you 
something.  I'll  not  mince  matters.  You  know  that  the 
Patroons  have  dropped  me,  and  you  know  what  for." 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

"  When  I  was  called  before  the  Board  of  Governors 
to  explain  the  matter,  if  I  could,  you  were  sitting  on  that 
Board." 

"  Yes." 

"  I  denied  the  charge,  but  refused  to  explain.  .  .  . 
You  remember?  " 

Quarrier  nodded  coldly. 

210 


PERSUASION 


"  And  I  was  dropped  by  the  club !  " 

A  slight  inclination  of  Quarrier's  symmetrical  head 
corroborated  him. 

"  Now,"  said  Siward,  slowly  and  very  distinctly,  "  I 
shall  tell  you  unofficially  what  I  refused  to  tell  the  other 
governors  officially."  And,  as  he  began  speaking,  Quar 
rier's  face  flushed,  then  the  features  became  immobile,  set, 
and  inert,  and  his  eyes  grew  duller  and  duller,  as  though, 
under  a  smooth  surface  the  soul  inside  of  him  was  shrink 
ing  back  into  some  dark  corner,  silent,  watchful,  sus 
picious,  and  perhaps  defiant. 

. "  Mr.   Quarrier,"  said  Siward  quietly,  "  I  did  not 
take  that  girl  to  the  Patroons  Club — and  you  know  it." 

Quarrier  was  all  surface  now;  he  had  drawn  away 
internally  so  far  that  even  his  eyes  seemed  to  recede 
until  they  scarcely  glimmered  through  the  slits  in  his 
colourless  mask.  And  Siward  went  on : 

"  I  knew  perfectly  well  what  sort  of  women  I  was  to 
meet  at  that  fool  supper  Billy  Fleet  wood  gave ;  and  you 
must  have,  too,  for  the  girl  you  took  in  was  no  stranger 
to  you.  .  .  .  Her  name  is  Lydia  Vyse,  I  believe." 

The  slightest  possible  glimmer  in  the  elder  man's  eyes 
was  all  the  answer  he  granted. 

"  What  happened,"  said  Siward  calmly,  "  was  this : 
She  bet  me  she  could  so  disguise  herself  that  I  could  safely 
take  her  into  any  club  in  New  York.  I  bet  her  she 
couldn't.  I  never  dreamed  of  trying.  Besides,  she  was 
your — dinner  partner,"  he  added  with  a  shrug. 

His  concentrated  gaze  seemed  at  length  to  pierce  the 
expressionless  surface  of  the  other  man,  who  moved 
slightly  in  his  chair  and  moistened  his  thin  lips  under  the 
glossy  beard. 

"  Quarrier,"  said  Siward  earnestly,  "  What  hap 
pened  in  the  club  lobby  I  don't  exactly  know,  because  I 

211 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 


was  not  in  a  condition  to  know.  I  admit  it;  that  was 
the  trouble  with  me.  When  I  left  Fleetwood's  rooms  I 
left  with  a  half  dozen  men.  I  remember  crossing  Fifth 
Avenue  with  them ;  and  the  next  thing  I  remember  dis 
tinctly  was  loud  talking  in  the  club  lobby,  and  a  number 
of  men  there,  and  a  slim  young  fellow  in  Inverness  and 
top  hat  in  the  centre  of  a  crowd,  whose  face  was  the  face 
of  that  girl,  Lydia  Vyse.  And  that  is  absolutely  all. 
But  I  couldn't  do  more  than  deny  that  I  took  her  there 
unless  I  told  what  I  knew;  and  of  course  that  was  not 
possible,  even  in  self-defence.  But  it  was  for  you  to  ad 
mit  that  I  was  right.  And  you  did  not.  You  dared 
not !  You  let  another  man  blunder  into  your  private  af 
fairs  and  fall  a  victim  to  circumstantial  evidence  which 
you  could  have  refuted;  and  it  was  up  to  you  to  say 
something !  And  you  did  not !  .  .  .  And  now — what 
are  you  going  to  do?  The  Lenox  Club  has  taken  this 
thing  up.  A  man  can't  stand  too  much  of  that  sort  of 
thing.  What  am  I  to  do?  I  can't  defend  myself  by 
betraying  my  accidental  knowledge  of  your  petty,  pri 
vate  affairs.  So  I  leave  it  to  you.  I  ask  you  what  are 
you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  " — Quarrier's  voice  was  not  his  own, 
and  he  brought  it  harshly  under  command — "  do  you 
mean  that  you  think  it  necessary  for  me  to  say  I  knew 
her?  What  object  would  be  attained  by  that?  I  did 
not  take  her  to  the  Patroons'." 

"  Nor  did  I.  Ask  her  how  she  got  there.  Learn 
the  truth  from  her,  man !  " 

"  What  proof  is  there  that  I  ever  met  her  before  I 
took  her  into  supper  at  Fleetwood's  ?  " 

"  Proof !  Arc  you  mad  ?  All  I  ask  of  you  is  to  say 
to  the  governors  what  I  cannot  say  without  using  your 


PERSUASION 


"  You  wish  me,"  asked  Quarrier  icily,  "  to  deny  that 
you  made  that  wager?  I  can  do  that." 

"  You  can't  do  it !     I  did  make  that  bet." 

"  Oh!     Then,  what  is  it  you  wish  me  to  say?  " 

"  Tell  them  the  truth.  Tell  them  you  know  I  did 
not  take  her  to  the  club.  You  need  not  tell  them  why  you 
know  it.  You  need  not  tell  them  how  much  you  know 
about  her,  whose  brougham  she  drove  home  in.  I  can't 
defend  myself  at  your  expense — intrench  myself  behind 
your  dirty  little  romance.  What  could  I  say?  I  de 
nied  taking  her  to  the  club.  Then  Major  Belwether 
confronted  me  with  my  wager.  Then  I  shut  up.  And 
so  did  you,  Quarrier — so  did  you,  seated  there  among 
the  governors,  between  Leroy  Mortimer  and  Belwether. 
It  was  up  to  you,  and  you  did  not  stir !  " 

"  Stir !  "  -echoed  the  other  man,  exasperated.  "  Of 
course  I  did  not  stir.  What  did  I  know  about  it?  Do 
you  think  I  care  to  give  a  man  like  Mortimer  a  hold  on 
me  by  admitting  I  knew  anything? — or  Belwether — do 
you  think  I  care  to  have  that  man  know  anything  about 
my  private  and  personal  business?  Did  you  expect  me 
to  say  that  I  was  in  a  position  to  prove  anything  one 
way  or  another?  And,"  he  added  with  increasing  harsh 
ness,  "  how  do  you  know  what  I  might  or  might  not 
prove?  If  she  went  to  the  Patroons  Club,  I  did  not  go 
with  her;  I  did  not  see  her ;  I  don't  know  whether  or  not 
you  took  her." 

"  I  have  already  told  you  that  I  did  not  take  her," 
said  Siward,  turning  whiter. 

"  You  told  that  to  the  governors,  too.  Tell  them 
again,  if  you  like.  I  decline  to  discuss  this  matter  with 
you.  I  decline  to  countenance  your  unwarranted  intru 
sion  into  what  you  pretend  to  believe  are  my  private  af 
fairs.  I  decline  to  confer  with  Belwether  or  Mortimer. 

213 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 


It's  enough  that  you  are  inclined  to  meddle — "  His 
cold  anger  was  stirring.  He  rose  to  his  full,  muscular 
height,  slow,  menacing,  his  long,  pale  fingers  twisting 
his  silky  beard.  "  It's  enough  that  you  meddle !  "  he 
repeated.  "  As  for  the  matter  in  question,  a  dozen  men, 
including  myself,  heard  you  make  a  wager ;  and  later  I 
myself  was  a  witness  that  the  terms  of  that  wager  had 
been  carried  out  to  the  letter.  I  know  absolutely  noth 
ing  except  that,  Mr.  Siward;  nor,  it  appears,  do  you, 
for  you  were  drunk  at  the  time,  and  you  have  admitted 
it  to  me." 

"  I  have  asked  you,"  said  Siward,  rising,  and  very 
grave,  "  I  have  asked  you  to  do  the  right  thing.  Are 
you  going  to  do  it?  " 

"  Is  that  a  threat?  "  inquired  Quarrier,  showing  the 
edges  of  his  well-kept  teeth.  "  Is  this  intimidation,  Mr. 
Siward?  Do  I  understand  that  you  are  proposing  to 
bespatter  others  with  scandal  unless  I  am  frightened  into 
going  to  the  governors  with  the  flimsj^  excuse  you  at 
tempt  to  offer  me  ?  In  other  words,  Mr.  Siward,  are  you 
bent  on  making  me  pay  for  what  you  believe  you  know 
of  my  private  life  ?  Is  it  really  intimidation  ?  " 

And  still  Siward  stared  into  his  half-veiled,  sneering 
eyes,  speechless. 

"  There  is  only  one  name  used  for  this  kind  of  thing," 
added  Quarrier,  taking  a  quick  involuntary  step  back 
ward  to  the  door  as  the  blaze  of  fury  broke  out  in  Si- 
ward's  eyes. 

"  Good  God !  Quarrier,"  whispered  Siward  with  dry 
lips,  "  what  a  cur  you  are !  What  a  cur !  " 

And  long  after  Quarrier  had  passed  the  door  and 
disappeared  in  the  corridor,  Siward  stood  there,  frozen 
motionless  under  the  icy  waves  of  rage  that  swept  him. 

He  had  never  before  had  an  enemy  worth  the  name ; 


PERSUASION 


he  knew  he  had  one  now.  He  had  never  before  hated; 
he  now  understood  something  of  that,  too.  The  purely 
physical  craving  to  take  this  man  and  crush  him  into 
eternal  quiescence  had  given  place  to  a  more  terrible 
mental  desire  to  punish.  His  brain  surged  and  surged 
under  the  first  flood  of  a  mortal  hatred.  That  the  hatred 
was  sterile  made  it  the  more  intense,  and,  blinded  by  it, 
he  stood  there  or  paced  the  room  minute  after  minute, 
hearing  nothing  but  the  wild  clamour  in  his  brain,  see 
ing  nothing  but  the  smooth,  expressionless  face  of  the 
man  whom  he  could  not  reach. 

Toward  midnight,  seated  in  his  chair  by  the  window, 
a  deathly  lassitude  weighing  his  heart,  he  heard  the 
steps  of  people  on  the  stairway,  the  click  of  the  ascending 
elevator,  gay  voices  calling  good  night,  a  ripple  of  laugh 
ter,  the  silken  swish  of  skirts  in  the  corridor,  doors 
opening  and  closing;  then  silence  creeping  throughout 
the  house  on  the  receding  heels  of  departure — a  stillness 
that  settled  like  a  mist  through  hall  and  corridor,  ac 
cented  for  a  few  moments  by  distant  sounds,  then  abso 
lute,  echoless  silence.  And  for  a  long  while  he  sat  there 
listening. 

The  cool  wind  from  the  ocean  blew  his  curtains  far 
into  the  room,  where  they  bellied  out,  fluttering,  float 
ing,  subsiding,  only  to  rise  again  in  the  freshening 
breeze.  He  sat  watching  their  silken  convolutions,  stu 
pidly,  for  a  while,  then  rose  and  closed  his  window,  and 
raised  the  window  on  the  south  for  purposes  of  air. 

As  he  turned  to  adjust  his  transom,  something  white 
thrust  under  the  door  caught  his  eye,  and  he  walked  over 
and  drew  it  across  the  sill.  It  was  a  sealed  note.  He 
opened  it,  reading  it  as  he  walked  back  to  the  drop-light 
burning  beside  his  bed : 

"  Did  you  not  mean  to  say  good-bye?  Because  it 
15  215 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

is  to  be  good-bye  for  a  long,  long  time — for  all  our  lives 
— as  long  as  we  live — as  long  as  the  world  lasts,  and 
longer.  .  .  .  Good-bye — unless  you  care  to  say  it  to  me." 

He  stood  studying  the  note  for  a  while;  presently, 
lighting  a  match,  he  set  fire  to  it  and  carried  it  blazing  to 
the  grate  and  flung  it  in,  watching  the  blackened  ashes 
curl  up,  glow,  whiten,  and  fall  in  flakes  to  the  hearth. 
Then  he  went  out  into  the  corridor,  and  traversed  the 
hall  to  the  passage  which  led  to  the  bay-window.  There 
was  nobody  there.  The  stars  looked  in  on  him,  twinkling 
with  a  frosty  light;  beneath,  the  shadowy  fronds  of 
palms  traced  a  pale  pattern  on  the  glass  roof  of  the 
swimming  pool.  He  waited  a  moment,  turned,  retraced 
his  steps  to  his  own  door  and  stood  listening.  Then, 
moving  swiftly,  he  walked  the  length  of  the  corridor, 
and,  halting  at  her  door,  knocked  once. 

After  a  moment  the  door  swung  open.  He  stepped 
forward  into  the  room,  closing  the  door  behind  him,  and 
confronted  the  tall  girl  standing  there  silhouetted  against 
the  lamp  behind  her. 

"  You  are  insane  to  do  this !  "  she  whispered.  "  I 
let  you  in  for  fear  you'd  knock  again !  " 

"  I  went  to  the  bay-window,"  he  said. 

"  You  went  too  late.  I  was  there  an  hour  ago.  I 
waited.  Do  you  know  what  time  it  is  ?  " 

"  Come  to  the  bay-window,"  he  said,  "  if  you  fear 
me  here." 

"  Do  you  know  it  is  nearly  three  o'clock?  "  she  re 
peated.  "  And  you  leave  at  six." 

"  Shall  we  say  good-bye  here?  "  he  asked  coolly. 

"  Certainly.  I  dare  not  go  out.  And  you — do  you 
know  the  chances  we  are  running?  You  must  be  per 
fectly  mad  to  come  to  my  room.  Do  you  think  anybody 

could  have  seen — heard  you " 

216 


PERSUASION 


"  No.  Good  night."  He  offered  his  hand ;  she  laid 
both  of  hers  in  it.  He  could  scarcely  distinguish  her 
features  where  she  stood  dark  against  the  brilliant  light 
behind  her. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  whispered,  kissing  her  hands  where 
they  lay  in  his. 

"  Good-bye."  Her  fingers  closed  convulsively,  re 
taining  his  hands.  "  I  hope — I  think  that — you 

Her  head  was  drooping ;  she  could  not  control  her  voice. 

"  Good-bye,  Sylvia,"  he  said  again. 

It  was  quite  useless,  she  could  not  speak;  and  when 
he  took  her  in  his  arms  she  clung  to  him,  quivering ;  and 
he  kissed  the  wet  lashes,  and  the  hot,  trembling  lips,  and 
the  smooth  little  hands  crushed  to  his  breast. 

"  We  have  a  year  yet,"  she  gasped.  "  Dear,  take 
me  by  force  before  it  ends.  I — I  simply  cannot  endure 
this.  I  told  you  to  take  me — to  tear  me  from  myself. 
Will  you  do  it  ?  I  will  love  you — truly,  truly !  Oh,  my 
darling,  my  darling!  Don't — don't  give  me  up!  Can't 
you  do  something  for  us?  Can't  you " 

"  Will  you  come  with  me  now  ?  " 

"  How  can " 

"  Will  you?" 

A  sudden  sound  broke  out  in  the  night — the  distant 
pealing  of  the  lodge-gate  bell.  Startled,  she  shrank 
back ;  somebody  in  the  adjoining  room  had  sprung  to  the 
floor  and  was  opening  the  window. 

"What  is  it?"  she  motioned  with  whitening  lips. 
"  Quick !  oh,  quick,  before  you  are  seen !  Grace  may 
come !  I — I  beg  of  you  to  go !  " 

As  he  stepped  into  the  corridor  he  heard,  below,  a 
sound  at  the  great  door,  and  the  stirring  of  the  night 
watchman  on  post.  At  his  own  door  he  turned,  listening 
to  the  movement  and  whispering.  Ferrall,  in  dressing- 

217 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

gown  and  slippers,  stepped  into  the  corridor ;  below,  the 
chains  were  rattling  as  the  wicket  swung  open.  There 
was  a  brief  parley  at  the  door,  sounds  of  retreating  steps 
on  the  gravel  outside,  sounds  of  approaching  steps  on 
the  stairway. 

"What's  that?  A  telegram?"  said  Ferrall  sharp 
ly.  "  Here,  give  it  to  me.  .  .  .  Wait !  It  isn't  for  me. 
It's  for  Mr  Siward!" 

Siward,  standing  at  his  open  door,  swayed  slightly. 
A  thrill  of  pure  fear  struck  him  through  and  through. 
He  laid  one  hand  on  the  door  to  steady  himself,  and 
stepped  forward  as  Ferrall  came  up. 

"  Oh !  You're  awake,  Stephen.  Here's  a  tele 
gram."  He  extended  his  hand.  Siward  took  the  yellow 
envelope,  fumbled  it,  tore  it  open. 

"  Good  God!  "  whispered  Ferrall;  "  is  it  bad?  " 

And  Siward's  glazed  eyes  stared  and  stared  at  the 
scrawled  and  inky  message: 

"  YOUR  MOTHER  IS  VERY  ILL.    COME  AT  ONCE." 

The  signature  was  the  name  of  their  family  phy 
sician,  Grisby. 


218 


CHAPTER    VIII 

CONFIDENCES 

BY  January  the  complex  social  mechanism  of  the  me 
tropolis  was  whirling  smoothly  again ;  the  last  ultra- 
fashionable  December  lingerer  had  returned  from  the 
country ;  those  of  the  same  caste  outward  bound  for  a 
Southern  or  exotic  winter  had  departed ;  and  the  glit 
tering  machine,  every  part  assembled,  refurbished,  re- 
polished,  and  connected,  having  been  given  preliminary 
speed-tests  at  the  horse  show,  and  a  tuning  up  at  the 
opera,  was  now  running  under  full  velocity;  and  its 
steady,  subdued  whir  quickened  the  clattering  pulse 
of  the  city,  keying  it  to  a  sublimely  syncopated  rag 
time. 

The  commercial  reaction  from  the  chaos  of  the  holi 
days  had  become  a  carnival  of  recovery;  shop  windows 
grew  brighter  and  gayer  than  ever,  bursting  into  gaudy 
winter  florescence ;  the  main  arteries  of  the  town  roared 
prosperity ;  cross  streets  were  packed ;  Fifth  Avenue, 
almost  impassible  in  the  morning,  choked  up  after  three 
o'clock;  and  all  the  afternoon  through,  and  late  into 
the  night,  mounted  police  of  the  traffic  squad,  adrift 
in  the  tide  of  carriages,  stemmed  the  flashing  currents 
pouring  north  and  south  from  the  white  marble  arch  to 
the  gilded  bronze  battle-horse  and  its  rider  on  guard  at 
the  portals  of  the  richest  quarter  of  the  wealthiest  city 
in  the  world. 

So  far,  that  winter,  snow  had  fallen  only  twice,  last- 
219 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

ing  but  a  day  or  two  each  time;  street  and  avenue  re 
mained  bone  dry  where  the  white-uniformed  cleaning 
squads  worked  amid  clouds  of  dust;  and  all  day  long 
the  flinty  asphalt  echoed  the  rattling  slap  of  horses' 
feet;  all  day  long  the  big,  shining  motor-cars  sped  up 
town  and  down  town,  droning  their  distant  warnings. 
It  was  an  open  winter  in  New  York,  and,  financially,  a 
prosperous  one;  and  that  meant  a  brilliant  social  sea 
son.  Like  a  set  piece  of  fireworks,  with  its  interde 
pendent  parts  taking  fire  in  turn,  function  after  func 
tion,  spectacle  after  spectacle,  glittered,  fizzed,  and  was 
extinguished,  only  to  give  place  to  newer  and  more 
splendid  spectacles ;  separate  circles,  sets,  and  groups 
belonging  to  the  social  solar  system  whizzed,  revolved, 
rotated,  with  edifying  effects  on  everybody  concerned, 
unconcerned,  and  not  at  all  concerned ;  and  at  intervals, 
when  for  a  moment  or  two  something  hung  fire,  the 
twinkle  of  similar  spectacles  sputtering  away  in  distant 
cities  beyond  the  horizon  was  faintly  reflected  in  the 
social  sky  above  the  incandescent  metropolis.  For  the 
whole  nation  was  footing  it,  heel  and  toe,  to  the  echoes 
of  strains  borne  on  the  winds  from  the  social  capital 
of  the  republic;  and  the  social  arbiter  at  Bird  Centre 
was  more  of  a  facsimile  of  his  New  York  confrere  than 
that  confrere  could  ever  dream  of  even  in  the  most  real 
istic  of  nightmares. 

Three  phenomena  particularly  characterised  that 
metropolitan  winter:  the  reckless  rage  for  private  gam 
bling  through  the  mediums  of  bridge  and  roulette;  the 
incorporation  of  a  company  known  as  The  Inter-County 
Electric  Company,  capitalised  at  a  figure  calculated  to 
disturb  nobody,  and,  so  far,  without  any  avowed  specific 
policy  other  than  that  which  served  to  decorate  a  por 
tion  of  its  charter  which  otherwise  might  have  remained 

220 


CONFIDENCES 


ornately  and  comparatively  blank;  the  third  phenome 
non  was  the  retirement  from  active  affairs  of  Stanley 
S.  Quarrier,  the  father  of  Howard  Quarrier,  and  the 
election  of  the  son  to  the  presidency  of  the  great  Al 
gonquin  Loan  and  Trust  Company,  with  its  network 
system  of  dependent,  subsidiary,  and  allied  corporations. 

The  day  that  the  newspapers  gave  this  interesting 
information  to  the  Western  world,  Leroy  Mortimer,  on 
being  bluntly  notified  that  he  had  overdrawn  his  account 
with  the  Algonquin  Loan  and  Trust,  began  telephoning 
in  every  direction  until  he  located  Beverly  Plank  at  the 
Saddle  Club — an  organisation  of  wealthy  men,  and  suf 
ficiently  exclusive  not  to  compromise  Plank's  possible 
chances  for  something  better;  in  fact,  the  Saddle  Club, 
into  which  Leroy  Mortimer  had  already  managed  to 
pilot  him,  was  one  riser  and  tread  upward  on  the  stair 
he  was  climbing,  though  it  was  more  of  a  lobby  for 
other  clubs  than  a  club  in  itself.  To  be  seen  there  was, 
perhaps,  rather  to  a  man's  advantage,  if  he  did  not  loaf 
there  in  the  evenings  or  use  it  too  frequently.  As  Plank 
carefully  avoided  doing  either,  Mortimer  was  fortu 
nate  in  finding  him  there;  and  he  crawled  out  of  his 
hansom,  saying  that  the  desk  clerk  would  pay,  and  en 
tered  the  reading-room,  where  Plank  sat  writing  a  letter. 

Beverly  Plank  had  grown  stouter  since  he  had  re 
turned  to  town  from  Black  Fells;  but  the  increase  of 
weight  was  evenly  distributed  over  his  six  feet  odd, 
which  made  him  only  a  trifle  more  ponderous  and  not 
abdominally  fat.  But  Mortimer  had  become  enormous ; 
rolls  of  flesh  crowded  his  mottled  ear-lobes  outward  and 
bulged  above  his  collar ;  cushions  of  it  padded  the  backs 
of  his  hands  and  fingers ;  shaving  left  his  heavy,  dis 
tended  face  congested  and  unpleasantly  shiny.  But  he 
was  as  minutely  groomed  as  ever,  and  he  wore  that  sati- 


.  THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

ated  air  of  prosperity  which  had  always  been  one  of  his 
most  important  assets. 

The  social  campaign  inaugurated  by  Leila  Mortimer 
in  behalf  of  Beverly  Plank  had,  so  far,  received  no 
serious  reverses.  His  box  at  the  horse  show,  of  course, 
produced  merely  negative  results ;  his  box  at  the  opera 
might  mean  something  some  day.  His  name  was  up  at 
the  Lenox  and  the  Patroons ;  he  had  endowed  a  ward  in 
the  new  pavilion  of  St.  Berold's  Hospital;  he  had  pre 
sented  a  fine  Gainsborough — The  Countess  of  Wythe — 
to  the  Metropolitan  Museum ;  and  it  was  rumoured  that 
he  had  consulted  several  bishops  concerning  a  new  chapel 
for  that  huge  bastion  of  the  citadel  of  Faith  looming 
above  the  metropolitan  wilderness  in  the  north. 

So  far,  so  good.  If,  as  yet,  he  had  not  been  per 
mitted  to  go  where  he  wanted  to  go,  he  at  least  had 
been  instructed  where  not  to  go  and  what  not  to  do; 
and  he  was  as  docile  as  he  was  dogged,  understanding 
how  much  longer  it  takes  to  shuffle  in  by  way  of  the 
mews  and  the  back  door  than  to  sit  on  the  front  steps 
and  wait  politely  for  somebody  to  unchain  the  front  door. 

Meanwhile  he  was  doggedly  docile;  his  huge  house, 
facing  the  wintry  park  midway  between  the  squat  pal 
aces  of  the  wealthy  pioneers  and  the  outer  hundreds, 
remained  magnificently  empty  save  for  certain  after 
noon  conferences  of  very  solemn  men,  fellow  directors 
and  associates  in  business  and  financial  matters — save 
for  the  periodical  presence  of  the  Mortimers:  a  man 
sion  immense  and  shadowy,  haunted  by  relays  of  yawn 
ing,  liveried  servants,  half  stupefied  under  the  vast 
silence  of  the  twilit  splendour.  He  was  patient,  not 
only  because  he  was  told  to  be,  but  also  because  he  had 
nothing  better  to  do.  Society  stared  at  him  as  blankly 
as  the  Mountain  confronted  Mahomet.  But  the  stub- 

222 


CONFIDENCES 


born  patience  of  the  man  was  itself  a  strain  on  the 
Mountain;  he  was  aware  of  that,  and  he  waited  for  it 
to  come  to  him.  As  yet,  however,  he  could  detect  no 
symptoms  of  mobility  in  the  Mountain. 

"  Things  are  moving  all  the  same,"  said  Mortimer, 
as  he  entered  the  reading  room  of  the  Saddle  Club. 
"  Quarrier  and  Belwether  have  listened  a  damned  sight 
more  respectfully  to  me  since  they  read  that  column 
about  you  and  the  bishops  and  that  chapel  business." 

Plank  turned  his  heavy  head  with  a  disturbed  glance 
around  the  room;  for  he  always  dreaded  Mortimer's 
indiscretions  of  speech — was  afraid  of  his  cynical  frank 
ness  in  the  presence  of  others;  even  shrank  from  the 
brutal  bonhomie  of  the  man  when  alone  with  him. 

"  Can't  you  be  careful?  "  he  said;  "  there  was  a  man 
here  a  moment  ago."  He  picked  up  his  unfinished  let 
ter,  folded  and  pocketed  it,  touched  an  electric  bell,  and 
when  a  servant  came,  "  Take  Mr.  Mortimer's  order,"  he 
said,  supporting  his  massive  head  on  his  huge  hands 
and  resting  his  elbow  on  the  writing-desk. 

"  I've  got  to  cut  out  this  morning  bracer,"  said  Mor 
timer,  eyeing  the  servant  with  indecision ;  but  he  gave  his 
order  nevertheless,  and  later  accepted  a  cigar ;  and  when 
the  servant  had  returned  and  again  retired,  he  half 
emptied  his  tall  glass,  refilled  it  with  mineral  water,  and, 
settling  back  in  the  padded  arm-chair,  said :  "  If  I  man 
age  this  thing  as  it  ought  to  be  managed,  you'll  go 
through  by  April.  What  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

Plank's  phlegmatic  features  flushed.  "  I'm  more 
obliged  to  you  than  I  can  say,"  he  began,  but  Mortimer 
silenced  him  with  a  gesture :  "  Don't  interrupt.  I'm 
going  to  put  you  through  The  Patroons  Club  by  April. 
That's  thirty  yards  through  the  centre;  d'ye  see,  you 
dunderheaded  Dutchman?  It's  solid  gain,  and  it's  our 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

ball.  The  Lenox  will  take  longer ;  they're  a  '  holier- 
than-thou  '  bunch  of  nincompoops,  and  it  always  horri 
fies  them  to  have  any  man  elected,  no  matter  who  he  is. 
They'd  rather  die  of  dry  rot  than  elect  anybody;  it 
shocks  them  to  think  that  any  man  could  have  the  pre 
sumption  to  be  presented.  They  require  the  spectacle 
of  fasting  and  prayer — a  view  of  a  candidate  seated  in 
sackcloth  and  ashes  in  outer  darkness.  You've  got  to 
wait  for  the  Lenox,  Plank." 

"  I  am  waiting,"  said  Plank,  squaring  his  massive 
jaws. 

"  You've  got  to,"  growled  Mortimer,  emptying  his 
glass  aggressively. 

Plank  looked  out  of  the  window,  his  shrewd  blue 
eyes  closing  in  retrospection. 

"  Another  thing,"  continued  Mortimer  thickly ;  "  the 
Kemp  Ferralls  are  disposed  to  be  decent.  I  don't  mean 
in  asking  you  to  meet  some  intellectual  second-raters,  but 
in  doing  it  handsomely.  I  don't  know  whether  it's  time 
yet,"  he  added,  with  a  sidelong  glance  at  Plank's  stolid 
face ;  "  I  don't  want  to  push  the  mourners  too  hard  .  .  . 
Well,  I'll  see  about  it  ...  And  if  it's  the  thing  to 
do,  and  the  time  to  do  it  " — he  turned  on  Plank  with 
his  boisterous  and  misleading  laugh  and  clapped  him  on 
the  shoulder — "  it  will  be  done,  as  sure  as  snobs  are 
snobs;  and  that's  the  surest  thing  you  ever  bet  on. 
Here's  to  them !  "  and  he  emptied  his  glass  and  fell  back 
into  his  chair,  wheezing  and  sucking  at  his  unlighted 
cigar. 

"  I  want  to  say,"  began  Plank,  speaking  the  more 
slowly  because  he  was  deeply  in  earnest,  "  that  all  this 
you  are  doing  for  me  is  very  handsome  of  you,  Morti 
mer.  I'd  like  to  say — to  convey  to  you  something  of  how 
I  feel  about  the  way  you  and  Mrs.  Mortimer " 


CONFIDENCES 


"  Oh,  Leik  has  done  it  all." 

"  Mrs.  Mortimer  is  very  kind,  and  you  have  been 
so,  too.  I — I  wish  there  was  something — some  way  to 

"  To  what?  "  asked  Mortimer  so  bluntly  that  Plank 
flushed  up  and  stammered: 

"  To  be — to  do  a — to  show  my  gratitude." 

"  How?  You're  scarcely  in  a  position  to  do  any 
thing  for  us,"  said  Mortimer,  brutally  staring  him  out 
of  countenance. 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Plank,  the  painful  flush  deepening. 

Mortimer,  fussing  and  growling  over  his  cigar,  was 
nevertheless  stealthily  intent  on  the  game  which  had  so 
long  absorbed  him.  His  wits,  clogged,  dulled  by  ex 
cesses,  were  now  aroused  to  a  sort  of  gross  activity 
through  the  menace  of  necessity.  At  last  Plank  had 
given  him  an  opening.  He  recognised  his  chance. 

"  There's  one  thing,"  he  said  deliberately,  "  that  I 
won't  stand  for,  and  that's  any  vulgar  misconception  on 
your  part  of  my  friendship  for  you.  Do  you  follow 
me?  " 

66 1  don't  misunderstand  it,"  protested  Plank,  angry 
and  astonished ;  "  I  don't " 

" — As  though,"  continued  Mortimer  menacingly,  "  I 
were  one  of  those  needy  social  tipsters,  one  of  those 
shabby,  pandering  touts  who " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Mortimer,  don't  talk  like  that ! 

I  had  no  intention " 

" — One  of  those  contemptible,  parasitic  leeches,"  per 
sisted  Mortimer,  getting  redder  and  hoarser,  "  who  live 
on  men  like  you.  Confound  you,  Plank,  what  the  devil 
do  you  mean  by  it?  " 

"  Mortimer,  are  you  crazy,  to  talk  to  me  like  that  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  not,  but  you  must  be !     I've  a  mind  to 
225 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

drop  the  whole  cursed  business!  I've  every  inclination 
to  drop  it !  If  you  haven't  horse-sense  enough — if  you 
haven't  innate  delicacy  sufficient  to  keep  you  from  mak 
ing  such  a  break " 

"  I  didn't !  It  wasn't  a  break,  Mortimer.  I  wouldn't 
have  hurt  you " 

"  You  did  hurt  me !  How  can  I  feel  the  same  again  ? 
I  never  imagined  you  thought  I  was  that  sort  of  a  social 
mercenary.  Why,  so  little  did  I  dream  that  you  looked 
on  our  friendship  in  that  light  that  I  was — on  my  word 
of  honour! — I  was  just  now  on  the  point  of  asking  you 
for  three  or  four  thousand,  to  carry  me  to  the  month's 
end  and  square  my  bridge  balance." 

"  Mortimer,  you  must  take  it !  You  are  a  fool  to 
think  I  meant  anything  by  saying  I  wanted  to  show  my 
gratitude.  Look  here;  be  decent  and  fair  with  me. 
I  wouldn't  offer  you  an  affront — would  I? — even  if  I 
were  a  cad.  I  wouldn't  do  it  now,  just  when  you're 
getting  things  into  shape  for  me.  I'm  not  a  fool,  any 
way.  This  is  in  deadly  earnest,  I  tell  you,  Mortimer, 
and  I'm  getting  angry  about  it.  You've  got  to  show 
your  confidence  in  me ;  you've  got  to  take  what  you  want 
from  me,  as  you  would  from  any  friend.  I  resent  your 
failure  to  do  it  now,  as  though  you  drew  a  line  between 
me  and  your  intimates.  If  you're  really  my  friend, 
show  it!" 

There  was  a  pause.  A  curious  and  unaccustomed 
sensation  had  silenced  Mortimer,  something  almost  akin 
to  shame.  It  astonished  him  a  little.  He  did  not  quite 
understand  why,  in  the  very  moment  of  success  over  this 
stolid,  shrewd  young  man  and  his  thrifty  Dutch  in 
stincts,  he  should  feel  uncomfortable.  Were  not  his 
services  worth  something?  Had  he  not  earned  at  least 
the  right  to  borrow  from  this  rich  man  who  could  af- 


CONFIDENCES 


ford  to  pay  for  what  was  done  for  him?  Why  should 
he  feel  ashamed?  He  had  not  been  treacherous;  he 
really  liked  the  fellow.  Why  shouldn't  he  take  his 
money  ? 

"  See  here,  old  man,"  said  Plank,  extending  a  huge 
highly  coloured  hand,  "  is  all  square  between  us  now  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  muttered  Mortimer. 

But  Plank  would  not  relinquish  his  hand. 

"  Then  tell  me  how  to  draw  that  cheque !  Great 
Heaven,  Mortimer,  what  is  friendship,  anyhow,  if  it 
doesn't  include  little  matters  like  this — little  misunder 
standings  like  this?  I'm  the  man  to  be  sensitive,  not 
you.  You  have  been  very  good  to  me,  Mortimer. 
I  could  almost  wish  you  in  a  position  where  the  only 
thing  I  possess  might  square  something  of  my  debt 
to  you." 

A  few  minutes  later,  while  he  was  filling  in  the 
cheque,  a  dusty  youth  in  riding  clothes  and  spurs  came 
in  and  found  a  seat  by  one  of  the  windows,  into  which 
he  dropped,  and  then  looked  about  him  for  a  servant. 

"  Hello,  Fleetwood !  "  said  Mortimer,  glancing  over 
his  shoulder  to  see  whose  spurs  were  ringing  on  the  pol 
ished  floor. 

Fleetwood  saluted  amiably  with  his  riding-crop;  in 
cluding  Plank,  whom  he  did  not  know,  in  a  more  formal 
salute. 

"Will  you  join  us?"  asked  Mortimer,  taking  the 
cheque  which  Plank  offered  and  carelessly  pocketing  it 
without  even  a  nod  of  thanks.  "  You  know  Beverly 
Plank,  of  course?  What!  I  thought  everybody  knew 
Beverly  Plank." 

Mr.  Fleetwood  and  Mr.  Plank  shook  hands  and  re 
sumed  their  seats. 

"  Ripping  weather !  "  observed  Fleetwood,  replacing 
227 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

his  hat  and  rebuttoning  the  glove  which  he  had  removed 
to  shake  hands  with  Plank.  "  Lot  of  jolly  people  out 
this  morning.  I  say,  Mortimer,  do  you  want  that  roan 
hunter  of  mine  you  looked  over  ?  I  mean  King  Dermid, 
because  Marion  Page  wants  him,  if  you  don't.  She  was 
out  this  morning,  and  she  spoke  of  it  again." 

Mortimer,  lifting  a  replenished  glass,  shook  his  head, 
and  drank  thirstily  in  silence. 

"  Saw  you  at  Westbury,  I  think,"  said  Fleetwood 
politely  to  Plank,  as  the  two  lifted  their  glasses  to  one 
another. 

"  I  hunted  there  for  a  day  or  two,"  replied  Plank, 
modestly.  "  If  it's  that  big  Irish  thoroughbred  you 
were  riding  that  you  want  to  sell  I'd  like  a  look  in, 
if  Miss  Page  doesn't  fancy  him." 

Fleetwood  laughed,  and  glanced  amusedly  at  Plank 
over  his  glass.  "  It  isn't  that  horse,  Mr.  Plank.  That's 
Drumceit,  Stephen  Siward's  famous  horse."  He  inter 
rupted  himself  to  exchange  greetings  with  several  men 
who  came  into  the  room  rather  noisily,  their  spurs  re 
sounding  across  the  oaken  floor.  One  of  them.  Tom 
O'Hara,  joined  them,  slamming  his  crop  on  the  desk 
beside  Plank  and  spreading  himself  over  an  arm-chair, 
from  the  seat  of  which  he  forcibly  removed  Mortimer's 
feet  without  excuse. 

"  Drink  ?  Of  course  I  want  a  drink !  "  he  replied 
irritably  to  Fleetwood — "  one,  three,  ten,  several !  Billy, 
whose  weasel-bellied  pinto  was  that  you  were  kicking 
your  heels  into  in  the  park  ?  Some  of  the  squadron  men 
asked  me — the  major.  Oh,  beg  pardon!  Didn't  know 
you  were  trying  to  stick  Mortimer  with  him.  He  might 
do  for  the  troop  ambulance,  inside  I  .  .  .  What?  Oh, 
yes;  met  Mr.  Blank — I  mean  Mr.  Plank — at  Shotover, 
I  think.  How  d'ye  do?  Had  the  pleasure  of  potting 

228 


CONFIDENCES 


your  tame  pheasants.  Rotten  sport,  you  know.  What 
do  you  do  it  for,  Mr.  Blank  ?  " 

"  What  did  you  come  for,  if  it's  rotten  sport?  " 
asked  Plank  so  simply  that  it  took  O'Hara  a  moment 
to  realise  he  had  been  snubbed. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be  offensive,"  he  drawled. 

"  I  suppose  you  can't  help  it,"  said  Plank  very 
gently ;  "  some  people  can't,  you  know."  And  there  was 
another  silence,  broken  by  Mortimer,  whose  entire  bulk 
was  tingling  with  a  mixture  of  surprise  and  amusement 
over  his  protege's  developing  ability  to  take  care  of 
himself.  "  Did  you  say  that  Stephen  Siward  is  in  West- 
bury,  Billy?" 

"  No ;  he's  in  town,"  replied  Fleetwood.  "  I  took 
his  horses  up  to  hunt  with.  He  isn't  hunting,  you 
know." 

"  I  didn't  know.  Nobody  ever  sees  him  anywhere," 
said  Mortimer.  "  I  guess  his  mother's  death  cut  him 
up." 

Fleetwood  lifted  his  empty  glass  and  gently  shook 
the  ice  in  it.  "  That,  and — the  other  business — is 
enough  to  cut  any  man  up,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  You  mean  the  action  of  the  Lenox  Club?  "  asked 
Plank  seriously. 

"  Yes.  He's  resigned  from  this  club,  too,  I  hear. 
Somebody  told  me  that  he  has  made  a  clean  sweep  of 
all  his  clubs.  That's  foolish.  A  man  may  be  an  ass  to 
join  too  many  clubs  but  he's  always  a  fool  to  resign 
from  any  of  'em.  You  ask  the  weatherwise  what  re 
signing  from  a  club  forecasts.  It's  the  first  ominous 
sign  in  a  young  man's  career." 

"What's  the  second  sign?"  asked  O'Hara,  with  a 
yawn. 

"  Squadron  talk ;  and  you're  full  of  it,"  retorted 
229 


THE    FIGHTING    CHANCE 

Fleetwood — "  '  I  said  to  the  major,'  and  *  The  captain 
told  the  chief  trumpeter ' — all  that  sort  of  thing — and 
those  Porto  Rico  spurs  of  yours,  and  the  ewe-necked 
glyptosaurus  you  block  the  bridle-path  with  every  morn 
ing.  You're  an  awful  nuisance,  Tom,  if  anybody  should 
ask  me." 

Under  cover  of  a  rapid-fire  exchange  of  pleasantries 
between  Fleetwood  and  O'Hara,  Plank  turned  to  Morti 
mer,  hesitating: 

"  I  rather  liked  Siward  when  I  met  him  at  Shotover," 
he  ventured.  "  I'm  very  sorry  he's  down  and  out." 

"  He  drinks,"  shrugged  Mortimer,  diluting  his  min 
eral  water  with  Irish  whisky.  "  He  can't  let  it  alone ; 
he's  like  all  the  Siwards.  I  could  have  told  you  that 
the  first  time  I  ever  saw  him.  We  all  told  him  to  cut 
it  out,  because  he  was  sure  to  do  some  damfool  thing 
if  he  didn't.  He's  done  it,  and  his  clubs  have  cut  him 
out.  It's  his  own  funeral.  .  .  .  Well,  here's  to  you !  " 

"  Cut  who  out  ? "  asked  Fleetwood,  ignoring 
O'Hara's  parting  shot  concerning  the  decadence  of  the 
Fleetwood  stables  and  their  owner. 

"  Stephen  Siward.  I  always  said  that  he  was  sure, 
sooner  or  later,  to  land  in  the  family  ditch.  He  has  a 
right  to,  of  course;  the  gutter  is  public  property." 

"  It's  a  damned  sad  thing,"  said  Fleetwood  slowly. 

After  a  pause  Plank  said :  "  I  think  so,  too.  ...  I 
don't  know  him  very  well." 

"  You  may  know  him  better  now,"  said  O'Hara  in 
solently. 

Plank  reddened,  and,  after  a  moment :  "  I  should  be 
glad  to,  if  he  cares  to  know  me." 

"  Mortimer  doesn't  care  for  him,  but  he's  an  awfully 
good  fellow,  all  the  same,"  said  Fleetwood,  turning  to 
Plank;  "  he's  been  an  ass,  but  who  hasn't?  I  like  him 

230 


CONFIDENCES 


tremendously,  and  I  feel  very  bad  over  the  mess  he  made 
of  it  after  that  crazy  dinner  I  gave  in  my  rooms.  .  .  . 
What?  You  hadn't  heard  of  it?  Why  man,  it's  the 
talk  of  the  clubs." 

"  I  suppose  that  is  why  I  haven't  heard,"  said  Plank 
simply ;  "  my  club-life  is  still  in  the  future." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Fleetwood  with  an  involuntary  stare, 
surprised,  a  trifle  uncomfortable,  yet  somehow  liking 
Plank,  and  not  understanding  why. 

"  I'm  not  in  anything,  you  see ;  I'm  only  up  for  the 
Patroons  and  the  Lenox,"  added  Plank  gravely. 

"  I  see.  Certainly.  Er — hope  you'll  make  'em ; 
hope  to  see  you  there  soon.  Er — I  see  by  the  papers 
you've  been  jollying  the  clergy,  Mr.  Plank.  Awfully 
handsome  of  you,  all  that  chapel  business.  I  say:  I've 
a  cousin — er — young  architect;  Beaux  Arts,  and  all 
that — just  over.  I'd  awfully  like  to  have  him  given  a 
chance  at  that  competition;  invited  to  try,  you  see.  I 

don't  suppose  it  could  be  managed,  now " 

"  Would  you  like  to  have  me  ask  the  bishops  ?  "  in 
quired  Plank,  naively  shrewd.  And  the  conversation 
became  very  cordial  between  the  two,  which  Mortimer 
observed,  keeping  one  ironical  eye  on  Plank,  while  he 
continued  a  desultory  discussion  with  O'Hara  concerning 
a  very  private  dinner  which  somebody  told  somebody  that 
somebody  had  given  to  Quarrier  and  the  Inter-County 
Electric  people;  which,  if  true,  plainly  indicated  who 
was  financing  the  Inter-County  scheme,  and  why  Amal 
gamated  stock  had  tumbled  again  yesterday,  and  what 
might  be  looked  for  from  the  Algonquin  Trust  Com 
pany's  president. 

"  Amalgamated  Electric  doesn't   seem  to  like  it   a 
little  bit,"  said  O'Hara.     "  Ferrall,  Belwether,  and  Si- 
ward  are  in  it  up  to  their  necks ;  and  if  Quarrier  is 
16 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 


really  the  god  in  the  machine,  and  if  he  really  is  doing 
stunts  with  Amalgamated  Electric,  and  is  also  mixing 
feet  with  the  Inter-County  crowd,  why,  he  is  virtually 
paralleling  his  own  road ;  and  why,  in  the  name  of  com 
mon  sense,  is  he  doing  that?  He'll  kill  it;  that's  what 
he'll  do." 

"  He  can  afford  to  kill  it,"  observed  Mortimer, 
punching  the  electric  button  and  making  a  significant 
gesture  toward  his  empty  glass  as  the  servant  entered; 
"  a  man  like  Quarrier  can  afford  to  kill  anything." 

"  Yes ;  but  why  kill  Amalgamated  Electric  ?  Why 
not  merge?  Why,  it's  a  crazy  thing  to  do,  it's  a  devil 
of  a  thing  to  do,  to  parallel  your  own  line !  "  insisted 
O'Hara.  "  That  is  dirty  work.  People  don't  do  such 
things  these  days.  Nobody  tears  up  dollar  bills  for  the 
pleasure  of  tearing." 

"  Nobody  knows  what  Quarrier  will  do,"  muttered 
Mortimer,  who  had  tried  hard  enough  to  find  out  when 
the  first  ominous  rumours  arose  concerning  Amalga 
mated,  and  the  first  fractional  declines  left  the  street 
speechless  and  stupefied. 

O'Hara  sat  frowning,  and  fingering  his  glass.  "  As 
a  matter  of  fact,"  he  said,  "  a  little  cold  logic  shows 
us  that  Quarrier  isn't  in  it  at  all.  No  sane  man  would 
ruin  his  own  enterprise,  when  there  is  no  need  to.  His 
people  are  openly  supporting  Amalgamated  and  ham 
mering  Inter-County ;  and,  besides,  there's  Ferrall  in  it, 
and  Mrs.  Ferrall  is  Quarrier's  cousin;  and  there's  Bel- 
wether  in  it,  and  Quarrier  is  engaged  to  marry  Sylvia 
Landis,  who  is  Belwether's  niece.  It's  a  scrap  with  Heth- 
erington's  crowd,  and  the  wheels  inside  of  wheels  are  like 
Chinese  boxes.  Who  knows  what  it  means?  Only  it's 
plain  that  Amalgamated  is  safe,  if  Quarrier  wants  it 
to  be.  And  unless  he  does  he's  crazy." 

232 


CONFIDENCES 


Mortimer  puffed  stolidly  at  his  cigar  until  the  smoke 
got  into  his  eyes  and  inflamed  them.  He  sat  for  a  while, 
wiping  his  puffy  eyelids  with  his  handkerchief;  then, 
squinting  sideways  at  Plank,  and  seeing  him  still  oc 
cupied  with  Fleetwood,  turned  bluntly  on  O'Hara: 

"  See  here :  what  do  you  mean  by  being  nasty  to 
Plank?  "  he  growled.  "  I'm  backing  him.  Do  you  un 
derstand?  " 

"  It  is  curious,"  mused  O'Hara  coolly,  "  how  much  of 
a  cad  a  fairly  decent  man  can  be  when  he's  out  of 
temper ! " 

"  You  mean  Plank,  or  me  ?  "  demanded  Mortimer, 
darkening  angrily. 

"  No ;  I  mean  myself.  I'm  not  that  vay  usually.  I 
took  him  for  a  bounder,  and  he's  caught  me  with  the 
goods  on.  I've  been  thinking  that  the  men  who  bother 
with  such  questions  are  usually  open  to  suspicion  them 
selves.  Watch  me  do  the  civil,  now.  I'm  ashamed  of 
myself." 

"  Wait  a  moment.  Will  you  be  civil  enough  to  do 
something  for  him  at  the  Patroons?  That  will  mean 
something." 

"  Is  he  up  ?  Yes,  I  will ;  "  and,  turning  in  his  chair, 
he  said  to  Plank :  "  Awfully  sorry  I  acted  like  a  bounder 
just  now,  after  having  accepted  your  hospitality  at  the 
Fells.  I  did  mean  to  be  offensive,  and  I'm  sorry  for 
that,  too.  Hope  you'll  overlook  it,  and  be  friendly." 

Plank's  face  took  on  the  dark-red  hue  of  embarrass 
ment  ;  he  looked  questioningly  at  Mortimer,  whose  visage 
remained  non-committal,  then  directly  at  O'Hara. 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  to  be  friends  with  you,"  he 
said  with  an  ingenuous  dignity  that  surprised  Mortimer. 
It  was  only  the  native  simplicity  of  the  man,  veneered 
and  polished  by  constant  contact  with  Mrs.  Mortimer, 

233 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

and  now  showing  to  advantage  in  the  grain.  And  it 
gratified  Mortimer,  because  he  saw  that  it  was  going  to 
make  many  matters  much  easier  for  himself  and  his 
protege. 

The  tall  glasses  were  filled  and  drained  again  be 
fore  they  departed  to  the  cold  plunge  and  dressing-rooms 
above,  whence  presently  they  emerged  in  street  garb  to 
drive  down  town  and  lunch  together  at  the  Lenox  Club, 
Plank  as  Fleetwood's  guest. 

Mortimer,  very  heavy  and  inert  after  luncheon, 
wedged  himself  into  a  great  stuffed  arm-chair  by  the 
window,  where  he  alternately  nodded  over  his  coffee  and 
wheezed  in  his  breathing,  and  leered  out  at  Fifth  Ave 
nue  from  half -closed,  puffy  eyes.  And  there  he  was  due 
to  sit,  sodden  and  replete,  until  the  fashionable  equip 
ages  began  to  flash  past.  He'd  probably  see  his  wife 
driving  with  Mrs.  Ferrall  or  with  Miss  Caithness,  or 
perhaps  with  some  doddering  caryatid  of  the  social 
structure;  and  he'd  sit  there,  leering  with  gummy  eyes 
out  of  the  club  windows,  while  servants  in  silent  proces 
sional  replenished  his  glass  from  time  to  time,  until  in 
the  early  night  the  trim  little  shopgirls  flocked  out 
into  the  highways  in  gossiping,  fluttering  coveys,  trot 
ting  away  across  the  illuminated  asphalt,  north  and 
south  to  their  thousand  dingy  destinations.  And  after 
they  had  gone  he  would  probably  arouse  himself  to 
read  the  evening  paper,  or  perhaps  gossip  with  Major 
Belwether  and  other  white-haired  familiars,  or  perhaps 
doze  until  it  was  time  to  summon  a  cab  and  go  home 
to  dress. 

That  afternoon,  however,  having  O'Hara  and  Fleet- 
wood  to  give  him  countenance,  he  managed  to  arouse 
himself  long  enough  to  make  Plank  known  personally  to 
several  of  the  governors  of  the  club  and  to  a  dozen 

234 


CONFIDENCES 


members,  then  left  him  to  his  fate.  Whence,  presently, 
Fleetwood  and  O'Hara  extracted  him — fate  at  that  mo 
ment  being  personified  by  a  garrulous  old  gentleman, 
one  Peter  Caithness,  who  divided  with  Major  Belwether 
the  distinction  of  being  the  club  bore — and  together  they 
piloted  him  to  the  billiard  room,  where  he  beat  them 
handily  for  a  dollar  a  point  at  everything  they  sug 
gested. 

"  You  play  almost  as  pretty  a  game  as  Stephen  Si- 
ward  used  to  play,"  said  O'Hara  cordially.  "  You've 
something  of  his  cue  movement — something  of  his  in 
fernal  facility  and  touch.  Hasn't  he,  Fleetwood?  " 

"  I  wish  Siward  were  back  here,"  said  Fleetwood 
thoughtfully,  returning  his  cue  to  his  own  rack.  "  I 
wonder  what  he  does  with  himself — where  he  keeps  him 
self  all  the  while?  What  the  devil  is  there  for  a  man  to 
do,  if  he  doesn't  do  anything?  He's  not  going  out 
anywhere  since  his  mother's  death;  he  has  no  clubs  to 
go  to,  I  understand.  What  does  he  do — go  to  his  office 
and  come  back,  and  sit  in  that  shabby  old  brick  house 
all  day  and  blink  at  the  bum  portraits  of  his  bum  and 
distinguished  ancestors?  Do  you  know  what  he  does 
with  himself?  "  to  O'Hara. 

"  I  don't  even  know  where  he  lives,"  observed 
O'Hara,  resuming  his  coat.  "  He's  given  up  his  rooms, 
I  understand." 

"  What?     Don't  know  the  old  Siward  house?  " 

"  Oh !  does  he  live  there  now  ?  Of  course ;  I  forgot 
about  his  mother.  He  had  apartments  last  year,  you 
remember.  He  gave  dinners — corkers  they  were.  I  went 
to  one — like  that  last  one  you  gave." 

"  I  wish  I'd  never  given  it,"  said  Fleetwood  gloomily. 
"  If  I  hadn't,  he'd  be  a  member  here  still.  .  .  .  What  do 
you  suppose  induced  him  to  take  that  little  gin-drinking 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

cat  to  the  Patroons?  Why,  man,  it  wasn't  even  an 
undergraduate's  trick !  it  was  the  act  of  a  lunatic." 

For  a  while  they  talked  of  Siward,  and  of  his  unfor 
tunate  story  and  the  pity  of  it;  and  when  the  two  men 
ceased, 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Plank  mildly,  "  I  don't  be 
lieve  he  ever  did  it." 

O'Hara  looked  up  surprised,  then  shrugged.  "  Un 
fortunately  he  doesn't  deny  it,  you  see." 

"  I  heard,"  said  Fleetwood,  lighting  a  cigarette, 
"  that  he  did  deny  it ;  that  he  said,  no  matter  what  his 
condition  was,  he  couldn't  have  done  it.  If  he  had  been 
sober,  the  governors  would  have  been  bound  to  take  his 
word  of  honour.  But  he  couldn't  give  that,  you  see. 
And  after  they  pointed  out  to  him  that  he  had  been  in 
no  condition  to  know  exactly  what  he  did  do,  he  shut 
up.  .  .  .  And  they  dropped  him ;  and  he's  falling  yet." 

"  I  don't  believe  that  sort  of  a  man  ever  would  do 
that  sort  of  thing,"  repeated  Plank  obstinately,  his 
Delft-blue  eyes  partly  closing,  so  that  all  the  Dutch 
shrewdness  and  stubbornness  in  his  face  disturbed  its 
highly  coloured  placidity.  And  he  walked  away  toward 
the  wash-room  to  cleanse  his  ponderous  pink  hands  of 
chalk-dust. 

"  That's  what's  the  matter  with  Plank,"  observed 
O'Hara  to  Fleetwood  as  Plank  disappeared.  "  It  isn't 
that  he's  a  bounder;  but  he  doesn't  know  things;  he 
doesn't  know  enough,  for  instance,  to  wait  until  he's  a 
member  of  a  club  before  he  criticises  the  judgment  of  its 
governors.  Yet  you  can't  help  tolerating  the  fellow.  I 
think  I'll  write  a  letter  for  him,  or  put  down  my  name. 
What  do  you  think?" 

"  It  would  be  all  right,"  said  Fleetwood.  "  He'll 
need  all  the  support  he  can  get,  with  Leroy  Mortimer 

236 


CONFIDENCES 


as  his  sponsor.  .  .  .  Wasn't  Mortimer  rather  nasty 
about  Siward  though,  in  his  role  of  the  alcoholic 
prophet?  Whew!" 

"  Siward  never  had  any  use  for  Mortimer,"  observed 
O'Hara. 

"  I'll  bet  you  never  heard  him  say  so,"  returned 
Fleetwood.  "  You  know  Stephen  Siward's  way ;  he 
never  said  anything  unpleasant  about  any  man.  I  wish 
I  didn't  either,  but  I  do.  So  do  you.  So  do  most  men. 
.  .  .  Lord!  I  wish  Siward  were  back  here.  He  was  a 
good  deal  of  a  man,  after  all,  Tom." 

They  were  unconsciously  using  the  past  tense  in  dis 
cussing  Siward,  as  though  he  were  dead,  either  physi 
cally  or  socially. 

"  In  one  way  he  was  always  a  singularly  decent 
man,"  mused  O'Hara,  walking  toward  the  great  marble 
vestibule  and  buttoning  his  overcoat. 

"  How  exactly  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  about  women." 

"  I  believe  it,  too.  If  he  did  take  that  Vyse  girl  into 
the  Patroons,  it  was  his  limit  with  her — and,  I  believe 
his  limit  with  any  woman.  He  was  absurdly  decent  that 
way;  he  was  indeed.  And  now  look  at  the  reputation 
he  has  !  Isn't  it  funny  ?  isn't  it,  now  ?  " 

"  What  sort  of  an  effect  do  you  suppose  all  this 
business  is  going  to  have  on  Siward?  " 

"  It's  had  one  effect  already,"  replied  Fleetwood,  as 
Plank  came  up,  ready  for  the  street.  "  Ferrall  says 
he  looks  sick,  and  Belwether  says  he's  going  to  the  devil ; 
but  that's  the  sort  of  thing  the  major  is  likely  to  say. 
By  the  way,  wasn't  there  something  between  that  pretty 
Landis  girl  and  Siward?  Somebody — some  damned  gos 
siping  somebody — talked  about  it  somewhere,  recently." 

"  I  don't  believe  that,  either,"  said  Plank,  in  his 
237 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

heavy,  measured,  passionless  voice,  as  they  descended  the 
steps  of  the  white  portico  and  looked  around  for  a  cab. 

"  As  for  me,  I've  got  to  hustle,"  observed  O'Hara, 
glancing  at  his  watch.  "  I'm  due  to  shine  at  a  function 
about  five.  Are  you  coming  up-town  either  of  you 
fellows?  I'll  give  you  a  lift  as  far  as  Seventy-second 
Street,  Plank." 

"  Tell  you  what  we'll  do,"  said  Fleetwood,  impul 
sively,  turning  to  Plank :  "  We'll  drive  down  town,  you 
and  I,  and  we'll  look  up  poor  old  Siward !  Shall  we? 
He's  probably  all  alone  in  that  God-forsaken  red  brick 
family  tomb!  Shall  we?  How  about  it,  Plank?  " 

O'Hara  turned  impatiently  on  his  heel  with  a  gesture 
of  adieu,  climbed  into  his  electric  hansom,  and  went 
buzzing  away  up  the  avenue. 

"  I'd  like  to,  but  I  don't  think  I  know  Mr.  Siward 
weir  enough  to  do  that,"  said  Plank  diffidently.  He 
hesitated,  colouring  up.  "  He  might  misunderstand  my 
going  with  you — as  a  liberty — which  perhaps  I  might 
not  have  ventured  on  had  he  been  less — less  unfortu 
nate." 

Again  Fleetwood  warmed  toward  the  ruddy,  ponder 
ous  young  man  beside  him.  "  See  here,"  he  said,  "  you 
are  going  as  a  friend  of  mine — if  you  care  to  look  at 
it  that  way." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Plank ;  "  I  should  be  very  glad 
to  go  in  that  way." 

The  Siward  house  was  old  only  in  the  comparative 
Manhattan  meaning  of  the  word ;  for  in  New  York  noth 
ing  is  really  very  old,  except  the  faces  of  the  young  men. 

Decades  ago  it  had  been  considered  a  big  house,  and 
it  was  still  so  spoken  of — a  solid,  dingy,  red  brick  struc 
ture,  cubical  in  proportions,  surmounted  by  heavy  chim 
neys,  the  depth  of  its  sunken  windows  hinting  of  the 

238 


CONFIDENCES 


thickness  of  wall  and  foundation.  Window-curtains  of 
obsolete  pattern,  all  alike,  and  all  drawn,  masked  the 
blank  panes.  Three  massive  wist  aria- vines,  the  gnarled 
stems  as  thick  as  tree-trunks,  crawled  upward  to  the 
roof,  dividing  the  fa9ade  equally,  and  furnishing  some 
relief  to  its  flatness,  otherwise  unbroken  except  by  the 
deep  reveals  of  window  and  door.  Two  huge  and  un- 
symmetrical  catalpa  trees  stood  sentinels  before  it,  di 
viding  curb  from  asphalt;  and  from  the  centres  of  the 
shrivelled,  brown  grass-plots  flanking  the  stoop  under 
the  basement  windows  two  aged  Rose-of -Sharon  trees 
bristled  naked  to  the  height  of  the  white  marble  capitals 
of  the  flaking  pillars  supporting  the  stained  portico. 

An  old  New  York  house,  in  the  New  York  sense. 
Old  in  another  sense,  too,  where  in  a  rapid  land  Time 
outstrips  itself,  painting,  with  the  antiquity  of  centu 
ries,  the  stone  and  mortar  which  were  new  scarce  ten 
years  since. 

"  Nice  old  family  mausoleum,"  commented  Fleet- 
wood,  descending  from  the  hansom,  followed  by  Plank. 
The  latter  instinctively  mounted  the  stoop  on  tiptoe, 
treading  gingerly  as  one  who  ventures  into  precincts 
unknown  but  long  respected;  and  as  Fleetwood  pulled 
the  old-fashioned  bell,  Plank  stole  a  glance  over  the 
fa9ade,  where  wisps  of  straw  trailed  from  sparrows' 
nests,  undisturbed,  wedged  between  plinth  and  pillar; 
where,  behind  the  lace  pane-screens,  shadowy  edges  of 
heavy  curtains  framed  the  obscurity ;  where  the  paint 
had  blistered  and  peeled  from  the  iron  railings,  and  the 
marble  pillars  of  the  portico  glimmered,  scarred  by 
frosts  of  winters  long  forgotten. 

"  Cheerful  monument,"  repeated  Fleetwood  with  a 
sarcastic  nod.  Then  the  door  was  opened  by  a  very  old 
man  wearing  the  black  "  swallow-tail "  clothes  and 

239 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 


choker  of  an  old-time  butler,  spotless,  quite  immaculate, 
but  cut  after  a  fashion  no  young  man  remembers. 

"  Good  evening,  Gumble,"  said  Fleetwood,  entering, 
followed  on  tiptoe  by  Plank. 

"  Good  evening,  sir."  ...  A  pause ;  and  in  the  un 
steady  voice  of  age :  "  Mr.  Fleetwood,  sir.  .  .  .  Mr. 

."     A  bow,  and  the  dim  eyes  peering  up  at  Plank, 

who  stood  fumbling  for  his  card-case. 

Fleetwood  dropped  both  cards  on  the  salver  un 
steadily  extended.  The  butler  ushered  them  into  a  dim 
room  on  the  right. 

"  How  is  Mr.  Siward?  "  asked  Fleetwood,  pausing 
on  the  threshold  and  dropping  his  voice. 

The  old  man  hesitated,  looking  down,  then  still  look 
ing  away  from  Fleetwood :  "  Bravely,  sir,  bravely,  Mr. 
Fleetwood." 

"  The  Siwards  were  always  that,"  said  the  young 
man  gently. 

"  Yes,  sir.  .  .  .  Thank  you.  Mr.  Stephen — Mr.  Si- 
ward,"  he  corrected,  quaintly,  "  is  indisposed,  sir.  It 
was  a — a  great  shock  to  us  all,  sir !  "  He  bowed  and 
turned  away,  holding  his  salver  stiffly;  and  they  heard 
him  muttering  under  his  breath,  "  Bravely,  sir,  bravely. 
A — a  great  shock,  sir!  .  .  .  Thank  you." 

Fleetwood  turned  to  Plank,  who  stood  silent,  staring 
through  the  fading  light  at  the  faded  household  gods  of 
the  house  of  Siward.  The  dim  light  touched  the  prisms 
of  a  crystal  chandelier  dulled  by  age,  and  edged  the 
carved  foliations  of  the  marble  mantel,  above  which 
loomed  a  tarnished  mirror  reflecting  darkness.  Fleet- 
wood  rose,  drew  a  window-shade  higher,  and  nodded 
toward  several  pictures ;  and  Plank  moved  slowly  from 
one  to  another,  peering  up  at  the  dead  Siwards  in  their 
crackled  varnish. 

24-0 


CONFIDENCES 


"  This  is  the  real  thing,"  observed  Fleetwood  cyni 
cally,  "  all  this  Fourth  Avenue  antique  business ;  dingy, 
cumbersome,  depressing.  Good  God!  I  see  myself 
standing  it.  ...  Look  at  that  old  grinny-bags  in  a 
pig-tail  over  there !  To  the  cellar  for  his,  if  this  were 
rny  house.  .  .  .  We've  got  some,  too,  in  several  rooms, 
and  I  never  go  into  'em.  They're  like  a  scene  in  a 
bum  play,  or  like  one  of  those  Washington  Square  rat- 
holes,  where  artists  eat  Welsh-rabbits  with  dirty  fingers. 
Ugh!" 

"  I  like  it,"  said  Plank,  under  his  breath. 

Fleetwood  stared,  then  shrugged,  and  returned  to 
the  window  to  watch  a  brand-new  French  motor-car 
drawn  up  before  a  modern  mansion  across  the  avenue. 

The  butler  returned  presently,  saying  that  Mr.  Si- 
ward  was  at  home  and  would  receive  them  in  the  library 
above,  as  he  was  not  yet  able  to  pass  up  and  down 
stairs. 

"  I  didn't  know  he  was  as  ill  as  that,"  muttered 
Fleetwood,  as  he  and  Plank  followed  the  old  man  up 
the  creaking  stairway.  But  Gumble,  the  butler,  said 
nothing  in  reply. 

Siward  was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair  by  the  window, 
one  leg  extended,  his  left  foot,  stiffly  cased  in  bandages, 
resting  on  a  footstool. 

"  Why,  Stephen  !  "  exclaimed  Fleetwood,  hastening 
forward,  "  I  didn't  know  you  were  laid  up  like  this !  " 

Siward  offered  his  hand  inquiringly;  then  his  eyes 
turned  toward  Plank,  who  stood  behind  Fleetwood ;  and, 
slowly  disengaging  his  hand  from  Fleetwood's  sym 
pathetic  grip,  he  offered  it  to  Plank. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,"  he  said.  "  Gumble,  Mr. 
Fleetwood  prefers  rye,  for  some  inscrutable  reason.  Mr. 
Plank?  "  His  smile  was  a  question. 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 


"  If  you  don't  mind,"  said  Plank,  "  I  should  like  to 
have  some  tea — that  is,  if " 

"  Tea,  Gumble,  for  two.  We'll  tipple  in  company, 
Mr.  Plank,"  he  added.  "  And  the  cigars  are  at  jour 
elbow,  Billy,"  with  another  smile  at  Fleetwood. 

"  Now,"  said  the  latter,  after  he  had  lighted  his 
cigar,  "  what  is  the  matter,  Stephen  ?  " 

Siward  glanced  at  his  stiffly  extended  foot.  "  Noth 
ing  much."  He  reddened  faintly,  "  I  slipped.  It's  only 
a  twisted  ankle." 

For  a  moment  or  two  the  answer  satisfied  Fleetwood, 
then  a  sudden,  curious  flash  of  suspicion  came  into  his 
eyes;  he  glanced  sharply  at  Siward,  who  lowered  his 
eyes,  while  the  red  tint  in  his  hollow  cheeks  deepened. 

Neither  spoke  for  a  while.  Plank  sipped  the  tea 
which  Wands,  the  second  man,  brought.  Siward  brooded 
over  his  cup,  head  bent.  Fleetwood  made  more  noise 
than  necessary  with  his  ice. 

"I  miss  you  like  hell!"  said  Fleetwood  musingly, 
measuring  out  the  old  rye  from  the  quaint  decanter. 
"Why  did  you  drop  the  Saddle  Club,  Stephen?" 

"  I'm  not  riding ;  I  have  no  use  for  it,"  replied 
Siward. 

**  You've  cut  out  the  Proscenium  Club,  too,  and  the 
Owl's  Head,  and  the  Trophy.  m  It's  a  shame,  Stephen." 

"  I'm  tired  of  clubs." 

"  Don't  talk  that  way." 

"  Very  well,  I  won't,"  said  Siward,  smiling.  "  Tell 
me  what  is  happening — out  there,"  he  made  a  gesture 
toward  the  window  ;  "  all  the  gossip  the  newspapers  miss. 
I've  talked  Dr.  Grisby  to  death;  I've  talked  Gumble  to 
death;  I've  read  myself  stupid.  What's  going  on, 
Billy?" 

So  Fleetwood   sketched  for  him  a  gay   cartoon  of 


CONFIDENCES 


events,  caricaturing  various  episodes  in  the  social  ka 
leidoscope  which  might  interest  him.  He  gossiped  cyn 
ically,  but  without  malice,  about  people  they  both  knew, 
about  engagements,  marriages,  and  divorces,  plans  and 
ambitions;  about  those  absent  from  the  metropolis  and 
the  newcomers  to  be  welcomed.  He  commented  briefly 
on  the  opera,  reviewed  the  newer  plays  at  the  theatres, 
touched  on  the  now  dormant  gaiety  which  had  made 
the  season  at  nearby  country  clubs  conspicuous ;  then 
drifted  into  the  hunting  field,  gossiping  pleasantly  in 
the  vernacular  about  horses  and  packs  and  drag-hunts 
and  stables,  and  what  people  thought  of  the  new  Eng 
lish  hounds  of  the  trial  pack,  and  how  the  new  M.  F. 
H.,  Maitland  Gray,  had  managed  to  break  so  many 
bones  at  Southbury. 

Politics  were  touched  upon,  and  they  spoke  of  the 
possibility  of  Ferrall  going  to  the  Assembly,  the  sport 
of  boss-baiting  having  become  fashionable  among  ama 
teurs,  and  providing  a  new  amusement  for  the  idle  rich. 

So  city,  State,  and  national  issues  were  run  through 
lightly,  business  conditions  noticed,  the  stock  market 
speculated  upon;  and  presently  conversation  died  out, 
with  a  yawn  from  Fleetwood  as  he  looked  into  his  empty 
glass  at  the  last  bit  of  ice. 

"Don't  do  that,  Billy,"  smiled  Siward.  "You 
haven't  discoursed  upon  art,  literature,  and  science  yet, 
and  you  can't  go  until  you've  adjusted  the  affairs  of 
the  nation  for  the  next  twenty-four  hours." 

"  Art?  "  yawned  Fleetwood.  "  Oh,  pictures?  Don't 
like  'em.  Nobody  ever  looks  at  'em  except  debutantes, 
who  do  it  out  of  deviltry,  to  floor  a  man  at  a  dinner  or 
a  dance." 

"  How  about  literature?  "  inquired  Siward  gravely. 
"  Anything  doing?  " 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  Nothing  in  it,"  replied  Fleetwood  more  gravely 
still.  "  It's  another  feminine  bluff — like  all  that  music 
talk  they  hand  you  after  the  opera." 

"  I  see.     And  science  ?  " 

"  Spider  Flynn  is  matched  to  meet  Kid  Holloway ;  is 
that  what  you  mean,  Stephen?  Somebody  tumbled  out 
of  an  air-ship  the  other  day ;  is  that  what  you  mean  ? 
And  they're  selling  scientific  jewelry  on  Broadway  at  a 
dollar  a  quart;  is  that  what  you  want  to  know?  " 

Siward  rested  his  head  on  his  hand  with  a  smile. 
"  Yes,  that's  about  what  I  wanted  to  know,  Billy — all 
about  the  arts  and  sciences.  .  .  .  Much  obliged.  You 
needn't  stay  any  longer,  if  you  don't  want  to." 

"How  soon  will  you  be  out?"  inquired  Fleetwood. 

"  Out?  I  don't  know.  I  shall  try  to  drive  to  the 
office  to-morrow." 

"  Why  the  devil  did  you  resign  from  all  your  clubs  ? 
How  can  I  see  you  if  I  don't  come  here?  "  began  Fleet- 
wood  impatiently.  "  I  know,  of  course,  that  you're  not 
going  anywhere,  but  a  man  always  goes  to  his  club. 
You  don't  look  well,  Stephen.  You  are  too  much 
alone." 

Siward  did  not  answer.  His  face  and  body  had  cer 
tainly  grown  thinner  since  Fleetwood  had  last  seen  him. 
Plank,  too,  had  been  shocked  at  the  change  in  him — 
the  dark,  hard  lines  under  the  eyes ;  the  pallor,  the  curi 
ous  immobility  of  the  man,  save  for  his  fingers,  which 
were  always  restless,  now  moving  in  search  of  some  small 
object  to  worry  and  turn  over  and  over,  now  nervously 
settling  into  a  grasp  on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"  How  is  Amalgamated  Electric?  "  asked  Fleetwood, 
abruptly. 

"  I  think  it's  all  right.  Want  to  buy  some?  "  re 
plied  Siward,  smiling. 

244 


CONFIDENCES 


Plank  stirred  in  his  chair  ponderously.  "  Somebody 
is  kicking  it  to  pieces,"  he  said. 

"  Somebody  is  trying  to,"  smiled  Siward. 

"  Hetherington,"  nodded  Fleetwood.  Siward  nodded 
back.  Plank  was  silent. 

"  Of  course,"  continued  Fleetwood,  tentatively,  "  you 
people  need  not  worry,  with  Howard  Quarrier  back  of 
you." 

Nobody  said  anything  for  a  while.  Presently  Si- 
ward's  restless  hands,  moving  in  search  of  something, 
encountered  a  pencil  lying  on  the  table  beside  him,  and 
he  picked  it  up  and  began  drawing  initials  and  scrolls 
on  the  margin  of  a  newspaper ;  and  all  the  scrolls  framed 
initials,  and  all  the  initials  were  the  same,  twining  and 
twisting  into  endless  variations  of  the  letters  S.  L. 

"  Yes,  I  must  go  to  the  office  to-morrow,"  he  re 
peated  absently.  "  I  am  better — in  fact  I  am  quite 
well,  except  for  this  sprain."  He  looked  down  at  his 
bandaged  foot,  then  his  pencil  moved  listlessly  again, 
continuing  the  endless  variations  on  the  two  letters.  It 
was  plain  that  he  was  tired. 

Fleetwood  rose  and  made  his  adieux  almost  affection 
ately.  Plank  moved  forward  on  tiptoe,  bulky  and  noise 
less ;  and  Siward  held  out  his  hand,  saying  something 
amiably  formal. 

"  Would  you  like  to  have  me  come  again  ?  "  asked 
Plank,  red  with  embarrassment,  yet  so  naively  that  at 
first  Siward  found  no  words  to  answer  him;  then — 

"  Would  you  care  to  come,  Mr.  Plank  ?  " 

"Yes." 

Siward  looked  at  him  curiously,  almost  cautiously. 
His  first  impressions  of  the  man  had  been  summed  up  in 
one  contemptuous  word.  Besides,  barring  that,  what 
was  there  in  common  between  himself  and  such  a  type 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

as  Plank?  He  had  not  even  troubled  himself  to  avoid 
him  at  Shotover ;  he  had  merely  been  aware  of  him  when 
Plank  spoke  to  him ;  never  otherwise,  except  that  after 
noon  beside  the  swimming  pool,  when  he  had  made  one 
of  his  rare  criticisms  on  Plank. 

Perhaps  Plank  had  changed,  perhaps  Siward  had; 
for  he  found  nothing  offensive  in  the  bulky  young  man 
now — nothing  particularly  attractive,  either,  except  for 
a  certain  simplicity,  a  certain  direct  candour  in  the 
heavy  blue  eyes  which  met  his  squarely. 

"  Come  in  for  a  cigar  when  you  have  a  few  moments 
idle,"  said  Siward  slowly. 

"  It  will  give  me  great  pleasure,"  said  Plank,  bow 
ing. 

And  that  was  all.  He  followed  Fleetwood  down  the 
stairs ;  Wands  held  their  coats,  and  bowed  them  out  into 
the  falling  shadows  of  the  winter  twilight. 

Siward,  sitting  beside  his  window,  watched  them 
enter  their  hansom  and  drive  away  up  the  avenue.  A 
dull  flush  had  settled  over  his  cheeks;  the  aroma  of 
spirits  hung  in  the  air,  and  he  looked  across  the  room 
at  the  decanter.  Presently  he  drank  some  of  his  tea, 
but  it  was  lukewarm,  and  he  pushed  the  cup  from  him. 

The  clatter  of  the  cup  brought  the  old  butler,  who 
toddled  hither  and  thither,  removing  trays,  pulling 
chairs  into  place,  fussing  and  pattering  about,  until  a 
maid  came  in  noiselessly,  bearing  a  lamp.  She  pulled 
down  the  shades,  drew  the  sad-coloured  curtains,  went 
to  the  mantelpiece  and  peered  at  the  clock,  then  brought 
a  wine-glass  and  a  spoon  to  Siward,  and  measured  the 
dose  in  silence.  He  swallowed  it,  shrugged,  permitted 
her  to  change  the  position  of  his  chair  and  footstool, 
and  nodded  thanks  and  dismissal. 

"  Gumble,  are  you  there  ?  "  he  asked  carelessly. 
246 


CONFIDENCES 


The  butler  entered  from  the  hallway.    "  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  may  leave  that  decanter." 

But  the  old  servant  may  have  misunderstood,  for  he 
only  bowed  and  ambled  off  downstairs  with  the  decanter, 
either  heedless  or  deaf  to  his  master's  sharp  order  to 
return. 

For  a  while  Siward  sat  there,  eyes  fixed,  scowling 
into  vacancy ;  then  the  old,  listless,  careworn  expression 
returned;  he  rested  one  elbow  on  the  window-sill,  his 
worn  cheek  on  his  hand,  and  with  the  other  hand  fell 
to  weaving  initials  with  his  pencil  on  the  margin  of  the 
newspaper  lying  on  the  table  beside  him. 

Lamplight  brought  out  sharply  the  physical  change 
in  him — the  angular  shadows  flat  under  the  cheek-bones, 
the  hard,  slightly  swollen  flesh  in  the  bluish  shadows 
around  the  eyes.  The  mark  of  the  master- vice  was 
there;  its  stamp  in  the  swollen,  worn-out  hollows;  its 
imprint  in  the  fine  lines  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth ;  its 
sign  manual  in  the  faintest  relaxation  of  the  under  lip, 
which  had  not  yet  become  a  looseness. 

For  the  last  of  the  Siwards  had  at  last  stepped  into 
the  highway  which  his  doomed  forebears  had  travelled 
before  him. 

"  Gumble !  "  he  called  irritably. 

A  quavering  voice,  an  unsteady  step,  and  the  old 
man  entered  again.  "  Mr.  Stephen,  sir?  " 

"  Bring  that  decanter  back.  Didn't  you  hear  me 
tell  you  just  now?  " 

"  Sir?  " 

"Didn't  you  hear  me?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Stephen,  sir." 

There  was  a  silence. 

"Gumble!" 

"Sir?" 

17  247 


THE    FIGHTING    CHANCE 

"  Are  you  going  to  bring  that  decanter  ?  " 

The  old  butler  bowed,  and  ambled  from  the  room, 
and  for  a  long  while  Siward  sat  sullenly  listening  and 
scoring  the  edges  of  the  paper  with  his  trembling  pen 
cil.  Then  the  lead  broke  short,  and  he  flung  it  from 
him  and  pulled  the  bell.  Wands  came  this  time,  a  lank, 
sandy,  silent  man,  grown  gray  as  a  rat  in  the  service 
of  the  Siwards.  He  received  his  master's  orders,  and 
withdrew;  and  again  Siward  waited,  biting  his  under 
lip  and  tearing  bits  from  the  edges  of  the  newspaper 
with  fingers  never  still;  but  nobody  came  with  the  de 
canter,  and  after  a  while  his  tense  muscles  relaxed ;  some 
thing  in  his  very  soul  seemed  to  snap,  and  he  sank  back 
in  his  chair,  the  hot  tears  blinding  him. 

He  had  got  as  far  as  that;  moments  of  self-pity 
were  becoming  almost  as  frequent  as  scorching  intervals 
of  self-contempt. 

So  they  all  knew  what  was  the  matter  with  him — 
they  all  knew — the  doctor,  the  servants,  his  friends. 
Had  he  not  surprised  the  quick  suspicion  in  Fleetwood's 
glance,  when  he  told  him  he  had  slipped,  and  sprained 
his  ankle?  What  if  he  had  been  drunk  when  he  fell 
— -fell  on  his  own  doorsteps,  carried  into  the  old  Siward 
house  by  old  Siward  servants,  drunk  as  his  forefathers? 
It  was  none  of  Fleetwood's  business.  It  was  none  of  the 
servants'  business.  It  was  nobody's  business  except  his 
own.  Who  the  devil  were  all  these  people,  to  pry  into 
his  affairs  and  doctor  him  and  dose  him  and  form  secret 
leagues  to  disobey  him,  and  hide  decanters  from  him? 
Why  should  anybody  have  the  impertinence  to  meddle 
with  him?  Of  what  concern  to  them  were  his  vices  or 
his  virtues? 

The  tears  dried  in  his  hot  eyes;  he  jerked  the  old- 
fashioned  bell  savagely ;  and  after  a  long  while  he  heard 


CONFIDENCES 


servants  whispering  together  in  the  passage-way  out 
side  his  door. 

He  lay  very  still  in  his  chair;  his  hearing  had  be 
come  abnormally  acute,  but  he  could  not  make  out  what 
they  were  saying ;  and  as  the  dull,  intestinal  aching  grew 
sharper,  parching,  searing  every  strained  muscle  in 
throat  and  chest,  he  struck  the  table  beside  him,  and 
clenched  his  teeth  in  the  fierce  rush  of  agony  that  swept 
him  from  head  to  foot,  crying  out  an  inarticulate  menace 
on  his  household.  And  Dr.  Grisby  came  into  the 
room  from  the  outer  shadows  of  the  hall. 

He  was  very  small,  very  meagre,  very  bald,  and  clean 
shaven,  with  a  face  like  a  nut-cracker ;  and  the  brown  wig 
he  wore  was  atrocious,  and  curled  forward  over  his  col 
ourless  ears.  He  wore  steel-rimmed  spectacles,  each  glass 
divided  into  two  lenses ;  and  he  stood  on  tiptoe  to  look 
out  through  the  upper  lenses  on  the  world,  and  always 
bent  almost  double  to  use  the  lower  or  reading  lenses. 

Besides  that,  he  affected  frilled  shirts,  and  string 
ties,  which  nobody  had  ever  seen  snugly  tied.  His  loose 
string  tie  was  the  first  thing  Siward  could  remember 
about  the  doctor ;  and  that  the  doctor  had  permitted  him 
to  pull  it  when  he  had  the  measles,  at  the  age  of  six. 

"  What's  all  this  racket?  "  said  the  little  old  doc 
tor  harshly.  "  Got  colic?  Got  the  toothache?  I'm 
ashamed  of  you,  Stephen,  cutting  capers  and  pounding 
the  furniture !  Look  up !  Look  at  me !  Out  with  your 
tongue !  Well,  now,  what  the  devil's  the  trouble  ?  " 

"  You — know,"  muttered  Siward,  abandoning  his 
wrist  to  the  little  man,  who  seated  himself  beside  him. 
Dr.  Grisby  scarcely  noted  the  pulse;  the  delicate  pres 
sure  had  become  a  strong  caress. 

"  Know  what?  "  he  grunted.  "  How  do  I  know 
what's  the  matter  with  you?  Hey?  Now.  now,  don't 

249 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

try  to  explain,  Steve;  don't  fly  off  the  handle!  All 
right;  grant  that  I  do  know  what's  bothering  you;  I 
want  to  see  that  ankle  first.  Here,  somebody!  Light 
that  gas.  Why  the  mischief  don't  you  have  the  house 
wired  for  electricity,  Stephen?  It's  wholesome.  Gas 
isn't.  Lamps  are  worse,  sir.  Do  as  I  tell  you !  "  And 
he  went  on  loquaciously,  grumbling  and  muttering,  and 
never  ceasing  his  talk,  while  Siward,  wincing  as  the 
dressing  was  removed,  lay  back  and  closed  his  eyes. 

Half  an  hour  later  Gumble  appeared,  to  announce 
dinner. 

"  I  don't  want  any,"  said  Siward. 

"Eat!"  said  Dr.  Grisby  harshly. 

"  I— don't  care  to." 

"  Eat,  I  tell  you!  Do  you  think  I  don't  mean  what 
I  say?" 

So  he  ate  his  broth  and  toast,  the  doctor  curtly  de 
clining  to  join  him.  He  ate  hurriedly,  closing  his  eyes 
in  aversion.  Even  the  iced  tea  was  flat  and  distasteful 
to  him. 

And  at  last  he  lay  back,  white  and  unstrung,  the 
momentarily  deadened  desperation  glimmering  under  his 
half-closed  eyes.  And  for  a  long  while  Dr.  Grisby  sat, 
doubled  almost  in  two,  cuddling  his  bony  little  knees 
and  studying  the  patterns  in  the  faded  carpet. 

"  I  guess  you'd  better  go,  Stephen,"  he  said  at 
length. 

"  Up  the  river — to  Mulqueen's  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Let's  try  it,  Steve.  You'll  be  on  your  feet 
in  two  weeks.  Then  you'd  better  go — up  the  river — to 
Mulqueen's." 

"  I — I'll  go,  if  you  say  so.     But  I  can't  go  now." 

"  I  didn't  say  go  now.     I  said  in  two  weeks." 

"  Perhaps." 

250 


CONFIDENCES 


"  Will  you  give  me  your  word?  "  demanded  the  doc 
tor  sharply. 

"  No,  doctor." 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  Because  I  may  have  to  be  here  on  business.  There 
eeems  to  be  some  sort  of  crisis  coming  which  I  don't 
understand." 

"  There's  a  crisis  right  here,  Steve,  which  /  under 
stand  !  "  snapped  Dr.  Grisby.  "  Face  it  like  a  man ! 
Face  it  like  a  man !  You're  sick — to  your  bones,  boy — 
sick !  sick !  Fight  the  fight,  Steve !  Fight  a  good  fight. 
There's  a  fighting  chance ;  on  my  soul  of  honour,  there 
is,  Steve,  a  fighting  chance  for  you!  Now!  now,  boy! 
Buckle  up  tight !  Tuck  up  your  sword-sleeve !  At  'em, 
Steve!  Give  'em  hell!  Oh,  my  boy,  my  boy,  I  know; 
7  know !  "  The  little  man's  voice  broke,  but  he  steadied 
it  instantly  with  a  snap  of  his  nut-cracker  jaws,  and 
scowled  on  his  patient  and  shook  his  little  withered  fist 
at  him. 

His  patient  lay  very  still  in  the  shadow. 

"  I  want  you  to  go,"  said  the  doctor  harshly,  "  before 
your  self-control  goes.  Do  you  understand?  I  want  you 
to  go  before  your  decision  is  undermined;  before  you 
begin  to  do  devious  things,  sly  things,  cheating  things, 
slinking  things — anything  and  everything  to  get  at  the 
thing  you  crave.  I've  given  you  something  to  fight 
with,  and  you  won't  take  it  faithfully.  I've  given  you 
free  rein  in  tobacco  and  tea  and  coffee.  I've  helped  you 
as  much  as  I  dare  to  weather  the  nights.  Now,  you 
help  me — do  you  hear?  " 

"  Yes  ...  I  will." 

"  You  say  so ;  now  do  it.  Do  something  for  your 
self.  Do  anything!  If  you're  sick  of  reading — and  I 
don't  blame  you,  considering  the  stuff  you  read — get 

251 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

people  down  here  to  see  you ;  get  lots  of  people.  Tele 
phone  'em;  you've  a  telephone  there,  haven't  you? 
There  it  is,  by  your  elbow.  "-  Use  it!  Call  up  people. 
Talk  all  the  time." 

"  Yes,  I  will." 

"  Good !  Now,  Steve,  we  know  what's  the  matter, 
physically,  don't  we?  Of  course  we  do!  Now,  then, 
what's  the  matter  mentally?  " 

"  Mentally  ?  "  repeated  Siward  under  his  breath. 

"Yes,  mentally.  What's  the  trouble?  Stocks? 
Bonds?  Lawsuits?  Love?  "  the  slightest  pause,  and 
a  narrowing  of  the  gimlet  eyes  behind  the  lenses. 
"Love?"  he  repeated  harshly.  "Which  is  it,  boy? 
They're  all  good  to  let  alone." 

"  Business,"  said  Siward.  But,  being  a  Siward,  he 
was  obliged  to  add  "  partly." 

"  Business — partly,"  repeated  the  doctor.  "  What's 
the  matter  with  business — partly  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  There  are  rumours.  Hetherington 
is  pounding  us — apparently.  That  Inter-County  crowd 
is  acting  ominously,  too.  There's  something  under 
hand,  somewhere."  He  bent  his  head  and  fell  to  pluck 
ing  at  the  faded  brocade  on  the  arm  of  his  chair, 
muttering  to  himself,  "  somewhere,  somehow,  something 
underhand.  I  don't  know  what;  I  really  don't." 

"  All  right — all  right,"  said  the  doctor  testily ;  "  let 
it  go  at  that!  There's  treachery,  eh?  You  suspect  it? 
You're  sure  of  it — as  reasonably  sure  as  a  gentleman 
can  be  of  something  he  is  not  fashioned  to  understand? 
That's  it,  is  it?  All  right,  sir — all  right!  Very  well — 
ver-y  well.  Now,  sir,  look  at  me!  Business  symptoms 
admitted,  what  about  the  'partly,'  Stephen? — what 
about  it,  eh?  What  about  it?  " 

But  Siward  fell  silent  again. 
252 


CONFIDENCES 


». 


Eh?  Did  you  say  something?  No?  Oh,  very 
well,  ver-y  well,  sir.  .  .  .  Perfectly  correct,  Stephen. 
You  have  not  earned  t1  e  right  to  admit  further 
symptoms.  No,  sir,  you  have  not  earned  the  right 
to  admit  them  to  anybody,  not  even  to  yourself.  Nor 
to— her  I" 

"Doctor!" 

"  Sir?  " 

"  I  have— admitted  them." 

"  To  yourself,  Steve?  I'm  sorry.  You  have  no 
right  to — yet.  I'm  sorry " 

"  I  have  admitted  them — admitted  them — to  her." 

"That  settles  it,"  said  the  doctor  grimly,  "that 
clinches  it !  That  locks  you  to  the  wheel !  That  pledges 
you.  The  squabble  is  on,  now.  It's  your  honour  that's 
engaged  now,  not  your  nerves,  not  your  intestines.  It's 
a  good  fight — a  very  good  fight,  with  no  chance  of  losing 
anything  but  life.  You  go  up  the  river  to  Mulqueen's. 
That's  the  strategy  in  this  campaign;  that's  excellent 
manoeuvring;  that's  good  generalship!  Eh?  Mask 
your  purpose,  Steve ;  make  a  feint  of  camping  out  here 
under  my  guns;  then  suddenly  fling  your  entire  force 
up  the  Hudson  and  fortify  yourself  at  Mulqueen's  !  Ho, 
that'll  fix  'em  !  That's  going  to  astonish  the  enemy !  " 

His  harsh,  dry,  crackling  laughter  broke  out  like 
the  distant  rattle  of  musketry. 

The  ghost  of  a  smile  glimmered  in  Siward's  haunted 
eyes,  then  faded  as  he  leaned  forward. 

"  She  has  refused  me,"  he  said  simply. 

The  little  doctor,  after  an  incredulous  stare,  began 
chattering  with  wrath.  "  Refused  you !  Pah !  Pooh ! 
That's  nothing !  That  signifies  absolutely  nothing ! 
It's  meaningless !  It's  a  detail.  You  get  well — do  you 
hear?  You  go  and  get  well;  then  try  it  again!  Then 

253 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

you'll  see!  And  if  she  is  an  idiot — in  the  event  of  her 
irrational  persistence  in  an  incredible  and  utterly  inde 
fensible  attitude  " — he  choked  up,  then  fairly  barked  at 
Siward — "  take  her  anyway,  sir !  Run  off  with  her ! 
Dominate  circumstances,  sir!  take  charge  of  events! 
.  .  .  But  you  can't  do  it  till  you've  clapped  yourself 
into  prison  for  life.  .  .  .  And  God  help  you  if  you  let 
yourself  escape ! " 

And  after  a  long  while  Siward  said :  "  If  I  should 
ever  marry — and— and " 

"Had  children,  eh?  Is  that  it?  Oh,  it  is,  eh? 
Well,  I  say,  marry!  I  say,  have  children!  If  you're 
a  man,  you'll  breed  men.  The  chances  are  they  may  not 
inherit  what  you  have.  It  skips  some  generations — 
some,  now  and  then.  But  if  they  do,  good  God !  I  say 
it's  better  to  be  born  and  have  a  chance  to  fight  than 
never  to  come  into  the  arena  at  all!  By  winning  out, 
the  world  learns;  by  failure,  the  world  is  no  less  wise. 
The  important  thing  is  birth.  The  main  point  is  to 
breed — to  produce — to  reproduce!  but  not  until  you 
stand,  sword  in  hand,  and  your  armed  heel  on  the  breast 
of  your  prostrate  and  subconscious  self !  " 

He  jumped 'up  and  began  running  about  the  room 
with  short  little  bantam  steps,  talking  all  the  while. 

"  People  say,  '  Shall  criminals  be  allowed  to  mate 
and  produce  young?  Shall  malefactors  be  allowed  to 
beget  ?  No ! '  And  I  say  no,  too.  Never  so  long  as 
they  remain  criminals  and  malefactors ;  so  long  as  the 
evil  in  them  is  in  the  ascendant.  Never,  until  they  are 
cured.  That's  what  I  sa}^;  that's  what  I  maintain. 
Crime  is  a  disease;  criminals  are  sick  people.  No  mar 
riage  for  them  until  they're  cured ;  no  children  for  them 
until  they're  well.  If  they  cure  themselves,  let  'em 
marry ;  let  'em  breed ;  for  then,  if  their  children  inherit 

254 


CONFIDENCES 


the  inclination,  they  also  inherit  the  grit  to  cauterise  the 
malady." 

He  produced  a  huge  handkerchief  from  the  tails  of 
his  coat,  and  wiped  his  damp  features  and  polished  his 
forehead  so  violently  that  his  wig  took  a  new  and  jaunty 
angle. 

"I'm  talking  too  much,"  he  said  fretfully;  "I'm 
talking  a  great  deal — all  the  time — continually.  I've 
other  patients — several — plenty!  Do  you  think  you're 
the  only  man  I  know  who's  trying  to  disfigure  his  liver 
and  make  spots  come  out  all  over  inside  him?  Do  you?  " 

Siward  smiled  again,  a  worn,  pallid  smile. 

"  I  can  stand  it  while  you  are  here,  doctor,  but  when 
I'm  alone  it's — hard.  One  of  those  crises  is  close  now. 
I've  a  bad  night  ahead — a  bad  outlook.  Couldn't 
you " 

"No!" 

"  Just  enough  to " 

"  No,  Stephen." 

"—Enough  to  dull  it— just  a  little?  I  don't  ask 
for  enough  to  make  me  sleep — not  even  to  make  me 
doze.  You  have  your  needle;  haven't  you,  doctor?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then,  just  this  once — for  the  last  time." 

"No." 

"  Why  ?  Are  you  afraid  ?  You  needn't  be,  doctor. 
I  don't  care  for  it  except  to  give  me  a  little  respite,  a 
little  rest  on  a  night  like  this.  I'm  so  tired  of  this  ache. 
If  I  could  only  have  some  sleep,  and  wake  up  in  good 
shape,  I'd  stand  a  better  chance  of  fighting.  .  .  .  Wait, 
doctor !  Just  one  moment.  I  don't  mean  to  be  a  coward, 
but  I've  had  a  hard  fight,  and — I'm  tired.  ...  If  you 
could  see  your  way  to  helping  me " 

"  I  dare  not  help  you  any  more  that  way." 
255 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"Not  this  once?" 

"  Not  this  once." 

There  -was  a  dead  silence,  broken  at  last  by  the 
doctor  with  a  violent  gesture  toward  the  telephone. 
"Talk  to  the  girl!  Why  don't  you  talk  to  the  girl! 
If  she's  worth  a  hill  o'  beans  she'll  help  you  to  hang  on. 
What's  she  for,  if  she  isn't  for  such  moments  ?  Tell  her 
you  need  her  voice;  tell  her  you  need  her  faith  in  you. 
Damn  central!  Talk  out  in  church!  Don't  make  a 
goddess  of  a  woman.  The  men  who  want  to  marry  her. 
and  can't,  will  do  that!  The  nincompoop  can  always 
be  counted  on  to  deify  the  commonplace.  And  she  is 
commonplace.  If  she  isn't,  she's  no  good!  Commend 
me  to  sanity  and  the  commonplace.  I  take  off  my  hat 
to  it !  I  honour  it.  God  bless  it !  Good-night !  " 

Siward  lay  still  for  a  long  while  after  the  doctor  had 
gone.  More  than  an  hour  had  passed  before  he  slowly 
sat  up  and  groped  for  the  telephone  book,  opened  it. 
and  searched  in  a  blind,  hesitating  way  until  he  found 
the  number  he  was  looking  for. 

He  had  never  telephoned  to  her;  he  had  never  writ 
ten  her  except  once,  in  reply  to  her  letter  in  regard 
to  his  mother's  death — that  strange,  timid,  formal  let 
ter,  in  which,  grief-stunned  as  he  was,  he  saw  only  the 
formality,  and  had  answered  it  more  formally  still.  And 
that  was  all  that  had  come  of  the  days  and  nights  by 
that  northern  sea — a  letter  and  its  answer,  and  silence. 

And,  thinking  of  these  things,  he  shut  the  book 
wearily,  and  lay  back  in  the  shadow  of  the  faded  cur 
tain,  closing  his  sunken  eyes. 


256 


CHAPTER    IX 

CONFESSIONS 

IN  a  city  in  transition,  where  yesterday  is  as  dead 
as  a  dead  century,  where  those  who  prepare  the  old 
year  for  burial  are  already  taking  the  ante-mortem  state 
ment  of  the  new,  the  future  fulfils  the  functions  of  the 
present.  Time  itself  is  considered  merely  as  a  by 
product  of  horse-power,  discounted  with  flippancy  as  the 
unavoidable  friction  clogging  the  fly-wheel  of  progress. 

Memory,  once  a  fine  art,  is  becoming  a  lost  art  in 
Manhattan. 

His  world  and  his  city  had  almost  ceased  to  think 
of  Siward. 

For  a  few  weeks  men  spoke  of  him  in  the  several 
clubs  of  which  he  had  lately  been  a  member — spoke  of 
him  always  in  the  past  tense;  and  after  a  little  while 
spoke  of  him  no  more. 

In  that  section  of  the  social  system  which  he  had 
inhabited,  his  absence  on  account  of  his  mother's  death 
being  taken  for  granted,  people  laid  him  away  in  their 
minds  almost  as  ceremoniously  as  they  had  laid  away 
the  memory  of  his  mother.  Nothing  halted  because  he 
was  not  present;  nothing  was  delayed,  rearranged,  or 
abandoned  because  his  familiar  presence  chanced  to  be 
missing.  There  remained  only  one  more  place  to  fill  at 
a  cotillion,  dinner,  or  bridge  party;  only  another  man 
for  opera  box  or  week's  end;  one  man  the  more  to  be 
counted  on,  one  more  man  to  be  counted  out — trans- 

257 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

ferred  to  the  credit  of  profit  and  loss,  and  the  ledger 
closed  for  the  season. 

They  who  remembered  him,  among  those  who  had 
not  yet  lost  that  old-fashioned  art,  were  very  few — a 
young  girl  here  and  there,  over  whom  he  had  been  ab 
sent-mindedly  sentimental ;  a  debutante  or  two  who  had 
adored  him  from  a  distance  as  a  friend  of  elder  sister 
or  brother;  here  and  there  an  old,  old  lady  to  whom 
he  had  been  considerate,  and  who  perhaps  remembered 
something  of  the  winning  charm  of  the  Siwards  when 
the  town  was  young — his  father,  perhaps,  perhaps  his 
grandfather — these  thought  of  him  at  intervals;  the 
remainder  had  no  leisure  to  remember  even  if  they  had 
not  forgotten  how  to  do  it.  Several  cabmen  missed  him 
for  a  while;  now  and  then  a  privileged  cafe  waiter  in 
quired  about  him  from  gay,  noisy  parties  entering  some 
old  haunt  of  his.  Mr.  Desmond,  of  art  gallery  and 
roulette  notoriety,  whose  business  is  not  to  forget,  was 
politely  regretful  at  his  absence  from  certain  occult  cer 
emonies  which  he  had  at  irregular  intervals  graced  with 
votive  offerings.  And  the  list  ended  there — almost,  not 
quite ;  for  there  were  two  people  who  had  not  forgotten 
Siward:  Howard  Quarrier  and  Beverly  Plank;  and  one 
other,  a  third,  who  could  not  yet  forget  him  if  she  would 
— but,  as  yet,  she  had  not  tried  very  desperately. 

The  day  that  Siward  left  New  York  to  visit  every 
body's  friend,  Mr.  Mulqueen,  in  the  country,  Plank 
called  on  him  for  the  second  time  in  his  life,  and  was 
presently  received  in  the  south  drawing-room,  the  li 
brary  being  limited  to  an  informality  and  intimacy  not 
for  Mr.  Plank. 

Siward,  still  lame,  and  using  unskilfully  two  shiny 
new  crutches,  came  down  the  stairs  and  stumped  into 
the  drawing-room,  which,  in  spite  of  the  sombre,  cluster- 

258 


CONFESSIONS 


ing  curtains,  was  brightly  illuminated  by  the  winter 
sunshine  reflected  from  the  snow  in  the  street.  Plank 
was  shocked  at  the  change  in  him — at  the  ghost  of  a 
voice,  listlessly  formal;  at  the  thin,  nerveless  hand  of 
fered;  startled,  so  that  he  forgot  his  shyness,  and  re 
tained  the  bony  hand  tightly  in  his,  and  instinctively 
laid  his  other  great  cushion-like  paw  over  it,  holding 
it  imprisoned,  unable  to  speak,  unconscious,  in  the  im 
pulse  of  the  moment,  of  the  liberty  he  permitted  him 
self,  and  which  he  had  never  dreamed  of  taking  with 
such  a  man  as  Si  ward. 

The  effect  on  Siward  was  composite;  his  tired  voice 
ceased;  surprise,  inability  to  understand  tinged  with 
instinctive  displeasure,  were  succeeded  by  humourous 
curiosity;  and,  very  slowly  it  became  plain  to  him  that 
this  beefy  young  man  liked  him,  was  naively  con 
cerned  about  him,  felt  friendly  toward  him,  and  was 
showing  it  as  spontaneously  as  a  child.  Because  he  now 
understood  something  of  how  it  is  with  a  man  who  is 
in  the  process  of  being  forgotten,  his  perceptions  were 
perhaps  the  finer  in  these  days,  and  the  direct  uncon 
sciousness  of  Plank  touched  him  more  heavily  than  the 
pair  of  heavy  hands  enclosing  his. 

"  I  thought  I'd  come,"  began  Plank,  growing  red 
der  and  redder  as  he  began  to  realise  the  enormity  of 
familiarity  committed  only  on  the  warrant  of  impulse. 
"  You  don't  look  well." 

"  It  was  good  of  you  to  think  of  me,"  said  Siward. 
"  Come  up  to  the  library,  if  you've  a  few  minutes  to 
spare  an  invalid.  Please  go  first ;  I'm  a  trifle  lame  yet." 

"  I — I  am  sorry,"  muttered  Plank,  "  very,  very 
sorry." 

At  first,  in  the  library,  Plank  was  awkward  and  si 
lent,  finding  nothing  to  say,  and  nowhere  to  dispose  of 

259 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

his  hands,  until  Siward  gave  him  a  cigar  to  occupy  his 
fingers.  Even  then  he  continued  to  sit  uncomfortably, 
his  bulk  balanced  on  a  rickety,  spindle-legged  chair, 
which  he  stubbornly  refused  to  exchange  for  another,  at 
Siward's  suggestion,  out  of  sheer  embarrassment,  and 
with  a  confused  idea  that  his  refusal  would  somehow  ul 
timately  put  him  at  his  ease  with  his  surroundings. 

Siward,  secretly  amused,  rang  for  tea,  although  the 
hour  was  early.  After  a  little  while,  either  the  toast 
or  the  tea  appeared  to  act  on  Plank  as  a  lingual  laxa 
tive,  for  he  began  suddenly  to  talk,  which  is  character 
istic  of  bashful  men ;  and  Siward  gravely  helped  him  on 
when  he  floundered  and  turned  shy.  After  a  little, 
matters  went  very  well  with  them,  and  Plank,  much 
more  at  ease  than  he  had  ever  dared  to  hope  he  could  be 
with  Siward,  talked  and  talked ;  and  Siward,  his  crutches 
across  his  knees,  lay  back  in  his  arm-chair,  chatting  with 
that  winning  informality  so  becoming  to  men  who  are 
unconscious  of  their  charm. 

Watching  Plank,  it  occurred  to  him  gradually  that 
this  great,  cumbersome  creature  was  not  a  shrewd, 
thrifty,  self-made  and  self-finished  adult  at  all;  only  a 
big,  wistful,  lonely  boy,  without  comrades  and  with  no- 
wThere  to  play.  On  Plank's  round  face  there  remained 
no  trace  of  shrewdness,  of  stubbornness,  nothing  even  of 
the  heavy,  saturnine  placidity  of  a  dogged  man  who 
waits  his  turn. 

Plank  spoke  of  himself  after  a  while,  sounding  the 
personal  note  writh  tentative  timidity.  Siward  gravely 
encouraged  him,  and  in  a  little  while  the  outlines  of  his 
crude  autobiography  appeared,  embod3^ing  his  eventless 
boyhood  in  a  Pennsylvania  town ;  his  career  at  the  high 
school;  the  dawning  desire  for  college  equipment,  satis 
fied  by  his  father,  who  owned  shares  in  the  promising 

260 


CONFESSIONS 


Deepvale  Steel  Plank  Company;  the  unhappy  years  at 
Harvard — hard  years,  for  he  learned  with  difficulty ; 
solitary  years,  for  he  was  not  sought  by  those  whom  he 
desired  to  know.  Then  he  ventured  to  speak  of  his 
father's  growing  interest  in  steel;  the  merging  and  ab 
sorbing  of  independent  plants ;  his  own  entry  upon  the 
scene  on  the  death  of  his  father;  and — the  rest — mate 
rial  fortune  and  prosperity,  which,  perhaps,  might 
stand  substitute  as  a  social  sponsor  for  him;  stand,  per 
haps,  for  something  of  what  he  lacked  in  himself,  which 
only  long  residence  amid  the  best,  long-formed  habits 
for  the  best,  or  a  long  inheritance  of  the  best  could 
give.  Did  Siward  think  so?  Was  the  best  beyond  his 
reach?  Was  it  hopeless  for  such  a  man  as  he  to  try? 
And  why? 

The  innocent  snobbery,  the  abashed  but  absolute 
simplicity  of  this  ponderous  pilgrim  from  the  smelting 
pits  clambering  upward  through  the  high  school  of  the 
smoky  town,  groping  laboriously  through  the  chilly 
halls  of  Harvard  toward  the  outer  breastworks  of  Man 
hattan,  interested  Siward ;  and  he  said  so  in  his  pleasant 
way,  without  offence,  and  with  a  smiling  question  at 
the  end. 

"  Worth  while  ?  "  repeated  Plank,  flushing  heavily, 
"  it  is  worth  while  to  me.  I  have  always  desired  to  be 
a  part  of  the  best  that  there  is  in  my  own  country ;  and 
the  best  is  here,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Not  necessarily,"  said  Siward,  still  smiling.  "  The 
noisiest  is  here,  and  some  of  the  best." 

"  Which  is  the  best?  "  inquired  Plank  naively. 

"  Why,  all  plain  people,  whose  education,  breeding, 
and  fortune  permit  them  the  luxury  of  thinking,  and 
whose  tastes,  intelligence,  and  sanity  enable  them  to  ex 
press  their  thoughts.  There  are  such  people  here,  and 

261 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

some  of  them  form  a  portion  of  the  gaudier  and  noisier 
galaxy  we  call  society." 

"  That  is  what  I  wish  to  be  part  of,"  said  Plank. 
"  Could  you  tell  me  what  are  the  requirements  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  I  could,  exactly,"  said  Siward, 
amused.  "  With  us,  the  social  system,  as  an  established 
and  finished  system,  has  too  recently  been  evolved  from 
outer  chaos  to  be  characteristic  of  anything  except  the 
crudity  and  energy  of  the  chaos  from  which  it  emerged. 
The  balance  between  wealth,  intelligence,  and  breeding 
has  not  yet  been  established — not  from  lack  of  wealth 
or  intelligence.  The  formula  has  not  been  announced, 
that  is  all." 

"What  is  the  formula?"  insisted  Plank. 

"  The  formula  is  the  receipt  for  a  real  society,"  re 
plied  Siward,  laughing.  "  At  present  we  have  its  un- 
combined  ingredients  in  the  raw — noisy  wealth  and  flip 
pant  fashion,  arrogant  intelligence  and  dowdy  breeding 
— all  excellent  materials,  when  filtered  and  fused  in  the 
retort;  and  many  of  our  test  tubes  have  already  pre 
cipitated  pure  metal  besides,  and  our  national  laboratory 
is  turning  out  fine  alloys.  Some  day  we'll  understand 
the  formula,  and  we'll  weld  the  entire  mass;  and  that 
will  be  society,  Mr.  Plank." 

"  In  the  meanwhile,"  repeated  Plank,  unsmiling,  "  I 
want  to  be  part  of  the  best  we  have.  I  want  to  be  part 
of  the  brightness  of  things.  I  mean,  that  I  cannot  be 
contented  with  an  imitation." 

"An  imitation?" 

"  Of  the  best — of  what  you  say  is  not  yet  society. 
I  ask  no  more  than  your  footing  among  the  people  of 
this  city.  I  wish  to  be  able  to  go  where  such  men  as 
you  go;  be  permitted,  asked,  desired  to  be  part  of  what 
you  always  have  been  part  of.  Is  it  a  great  deal  I 

262 


CONFESSIONS 


ask?  Tell  me,  Mr.  Siward — for  I  don't  know — is  it  too 
much  to  expect?  " 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  a  very  high  ambition,"  said  Si- 
ward,  smiling.  "  What  you  ask  is  not  very  much  to 
ask  of  life,  Mr.  Plank." 

"  But  is  there  any  reason  why  I  may  not  hope  to 
go  where  I  wish  to  go?  " 

"  I  think  it  depends  upon  yourself,"  said  Siward, 
"  upon  your  capacity  for  being,  or  for  making  people 
believe  you  to  be  exactly  what  they  require.  You  ask 
me  whether  you  may  be  able  to  go  where  you  desire; 
and  I  answer  you  that  there  is  no  limit  to  any  journey 
except  the  sprinting  ability  of  the  pilgrim." 

Plank  laughed  a  little,  and  his  squared  jaws  relaxed; 
then,  after  a  few  moments'  thought: 

"  It  is  curious  that  what  you  cast  away  from  you 
so  easily,  I  am  waiting  for  with  all  the  patience  I  have 
in  me.  And  yet  it  is  always  yours  to  pick  up  again 
whenever  you  wish ;  and  I  may  never  live  to  possess  it." 

He  was  so  perfectly  right  that  Siward  said  noth 
ing;  in  fact,  he  could  have  no  particular  interest  or 
sympathy  for  a  man's  quest  of  what  he  himself  did  not 
understand  the  lack  of.  Those  born  without  a  tag  un 
mistakably  ticketing  them  and  their  positions  in  the 
world  were  perforce  ticketed.  Siward  took  it  for 
granted  that  a  man  belonged  where  he  was  to  be  met; 
and  all  he  cared  about  was  to  find  him  civil,  whether  he 
happened  to  be  a  policeman  or  a  master  of  fox-hounds. 

He  was,  now  that  he  knew  Plank,  contented  to  ac 
cept  him  anywhere  he  met  him ;  but  Plank's  upward  evo 
lutions  upon  the  social  ladder  were  of  no  interest  to  him, 
and  his  naive  snobbery  was  becoming  something  of  a 
bore. 

So  Siward  directed  the  conversation  into  other  chan- 
18  263 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

nels,  and  Plank,  accepting  another  cup  of  tea,  became 
very  communicative  about  his  stables  and  his  dogs,  and 
the  preservation  of  game;  and  after  a  while,  looking 
up  confidently  at  Siward,  he  said: 

"  Do  you  think  it  beastly  to  drive  pheasants  the 
way  I  did  at  Black  Fells?  I  have  heard  that  you  were 
disgusted." 

"  It  isn't  my  idea  of  a  square  deal,"  said  Siward 
frankly. 

"  That  settles  it,  then." 

"  But  you  should  not  let  me  interfere  with " 

"  I'll  take  your  opinion,  and  thank  you  for  it.  It 
didn't  seem  to  me  to  be  the  thing;  only  it's  done  over 
here,  you  know.  The  De  Coursay's  and  the " 

"  Yes,  I  know.  .  .  .  Glad  you  feel  that  way  about 
it,  Plank.  It's  pretty  rotten  sportsmanship.  Don't  you 
think  so?" 

"  I  do.  I — would  you — I  should  like  to  ask  you  to 
try  some  square  shooting  at  the  Fells,"  stammered 
Plank,  "  next  season,  if  you  would  care  to." 

"  You're  very  good.  I  should  like  to,  if  I  were 
going  to  shoot  at  all ;  but  I  fancy  my  shooting  days  are 
over,  for  a  while." 

"  Over !  " 

"  Business,"  nodded  Siward,  absently  grave  again. 
"  I  see  no  prospect  of  my  idling  for  the  next  year  or 
two." 

"  You  are  in — in  Amalgamated  Electric,  I  think," 
ventured  Plank. 

"  Very  much  in,"  replied  the  other  frankly. 
"  You've  read  the  papers  and  heard  rumours,  I  sup 
pose?  " 

"  Some.  I  don't  suppose  anybody  quite  understands 
the  attacks  on  Amalgamated." 

264 


CONFESSIONS 


"  I  don't — not  yet.     Do  you?  " 

Plank  sat  silent,  then  his  shrewd  under  lip  began  to 
protrude. 

"  I'm  wondering,"  he  began  cautiously,  "  how  much 
the  Algonquin  crowd  understands  about  the  matter?  " 

Siward's  troubled  eyes  were  on  him  as  he  spoke, 
watching  closely,  narrowly. 

"  I've  heard  that  rumour  before,"  he  said. 

"  So  have  I,"  said  Plank,  "  and  it  seems  incredible." 
He  looked  warily  at  Siward.  "  Suppose  it  is  true  that 
the  Algonquin  Trust  Company  is  godfather  to  Inter- 
County.  That  doesn't  explain  why  a  man  should  kick 
his  own  door  down  when  there's  a  bell  to  ring  and  ser 
vants  to  let  him  in — and  out  again,  too." 

"  I  have  wondered,"  said  Siward,  "  whether  the  door 
he  might  be  inclined  to  kick  down  is  really  his  own  door 
any  longer." 

"  I,  too,"  said  Plank  simply.  "  It  may  belong  to 
a  personal  enemy — if  he  has  any.  He  could  afford  to 
have  an  enemy,  I  suppose." 

Siward  nodded. 

"  Then,  hadn't  you  better — I  beg  your  pardon ! 
You  have  not  asked  me  to  advise  you." 

"  No.  I  may  ask  3^our  advice  some  day.  Will  you 
give  it  when  I  do  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  Plank,  so  warmly  disinter 
ested,  so  plainly  proud  and  eager  to  do  a  service  that 
Siward,  surprised  and  touched,  found  no  word  to  utter. 

Plank  rose.  Siward  attempted  to  stand  up,  but  had 
trouble  with  his  crutches. 

"  Please  don't  try,"  said  Plank,  coming  over  and 
offering  his  hand.  "May  I  stop  in  again  soon?  Oh, 
you  are  off  to  the  country  for  a  month  or  two?  I  see. 
.  .  .  You  don't  look  very  well.  I  hope  it  will  benefit 

265 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

you.  Awfully  glad  to  have  seen  you.  I — I  hope  you 
won't  forget  me — entirely." 

"  I  am  the  man  people  are  forgetting,"  returned 
Siward,  "  not  you.  It  was  very  nice  of  you  to  come. 
You  are  one  of  very  few  who  remember  me  at  all." 

"  I  have  very  few  people  to  remember,"  said  Plank ; 
"  and  if  I  had  as  many  as  I  could  desire  I  should  re 
member  you  first." 

Here  he  became  very  much  embarrassed.  Siward  of 
fered  his  hand  again.  Plank  shook  it  awkwardly,  and 
went  away  on  tiptoe  down  the  stairs  which  creaked  de 
corously  under  his  weight. 

And  that  ended  the  first  interview  between  Plank  and 
Siward  in  the  first  days  of  the  latter's  decline. 

The  months  that  passed  during  Siward's  absence 
from  the  city  began  to  prove  rather  eventful  for  Plank. 
He  was  finally  elected  a  member  of  the  Patroons  Club, 
without  serious  opposition ;  he  had  dined  twice  with  the 
Kemp  Ferralls;  he  and  Major  Belwether  were  seen  to 
gether  at  the  Caithness  dance,  and  in  the  Caithness  box 
at  the  opera.  Once  a  respectable  newspaper  reported 
him  at  Tuxedo  for  the  week's  end;  his  name,  linked 
with  the  clergy,  frequently  occupied  such  space  under 
the  column  headed  "  Ecclesiastical  News  "  as  was  de 
voted  to  the  progress  of  the  new  chapel,  and  many  old 
ladies  began  to  become  familiar  with  his  name. 

At  the  right  moment  the  Mortimers  featured  him 
between  two  fashionable  bishops  at  a  dinner.  Mrs.  Ven- 
denning,  who  adored  bishops,  immediately  remembered 
him  among  those  asked  to  her  famous  annual  bal  poudre ; 
a  celebrated  yacht  club  admitted  him  to  membership ;  a 
whole  shoal  of  excellent  minor  clubs  which  really  needed 
new  members  followed  suit,  and  even  the  rock-ribbed 
Lenox,  wearied  of  its  own  time-honoured  immobility,  dis- 

266 


CONFESSIONS 


played  the  preliminary  fidgets  which  boded  well  for 
the  stolid  candidate.  The  Mountain  was  preparing  to 
take  the  first  stiff  step  toward  Mohammed.  It  was  the 
prophet's  cue  to  sit  tight  and  yawn  occasionally. 

Meanwhile  he  didn't  want  to ;  he  was  becoming  anx 
ious  to  do  things  for  himself,  which  Leila  Mortimer,  of 
course,  would  not  permit.  It  was  difficult  for  him  to 
understand  that  any  effort  of  his  own  would  probably 
be  disastrous;  that  progress  could  come  only  through 
his  own  receptive  passivity ;  that  nothing  was  demanded, 
nothing  required,  nothing  permitted  from  him  as  yet, 
save  a  capacity  for  assimilating  such  opportunities  as 
sections  of  the  social  system  condescended  to  offer. 

For  instance,  he  wanted  to  open  his  art  gallery  to 
the  public ;  he  said  it  was  good  strategy ;  and  Mrs.  Mor 
timer  sat  upon  the  suggestion  with  a  shrug  of  her  pretty 
shoulders.  Well,  then,  couldn't  he  possibly  do  some 
thing  with  his  great,  gilded  ball-room  ?  No,  he  couldn't ; 
and  the  less  in  evidence  his  galleries  and  his  ball-rooms 
were  at  present  the  better  his  chances  with  people  who, 
perfectly  aware  that  he  possessed  them,  were  very  slowly 
learning  to  overlook  the  insolence  of  the  accident  that 
permitted  him  to  possess  what  they  had  never  known 
the  want  of.  First  of  all  people  must  tire  of  repeating 
to  each  other  that  he  was  nobody,  and  that  would  hap 
pen  when  they  wearied  of  explaining  to  one  another  why 
he  was  ever  asked  anywhere.  There  was  time  enough 
for  him  to  offer  amusement  to  people  after  they  had 
ceased  to  find  amusement  in  snubbing  him;  plenty  of 
time  in  the  future  for  them  to  lash  him  to  a  gallop  for 
their  pleasure.  In  the  meanwhile  he  was  doing  very 
well,  because  he  began  to  appear  regularly  in  the  Caith- 
ness-Bonnesdel  box,  and  old  Peter  Caithness  was  already 
boring  him  at  the  Patroons;  which  meant  that  the 

267 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

thrifty  old  gentleman  considered  Plank's  millions  as  a 
possible  underpinning  for  the  sagging  house  of  Caith 
ness,  of  which  his  pallid  daughter  Agatha  was  the  sole 
sustaining  caryatid  in  perspective. 

Yes,  he  was  doing  well;  for  that  despotic  beauty, 
Sylvia  Landis,  whose  capricious  perversity  had  recently 
astonished  those  who  remembered  her  in  her  first  season 
as  a  sweet,  reasonable,  and  unspoiled  girl,  was  always 
friendly  with  him.  That  must  be  looked  upon  as  im 
portant,  considering  Sylvia's  unassailable  position,  and 
her  kinship  to  the  autocratic  old  lady  whose  kindly 
ukase  had  for  generations  remained  the  undisputed  law 
in  the  social  system  of  Manhattan. 

"  There  is  another  matter,"  said  Leila  Mortimer  in 
nocently,  as  Plank,  lingering  after  a  disastrous  rubber 
of  bridge  with  her,  her  husband,  and  Agatha  Caithness, 
had  followed  her  into  her  own  apartments  to  write  his 
cheque  for  what  he  owed.  "  You've  driven  with  me  so 
much  and  you  come  here  so  often  and  we  are  seen  to 
gether  so  frequently  that  the  clans  are  sharpening  up 
their  dirks  for  us.  And  that  helps  some." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Plank,  reddening,  and  twist 
ing  around  in  his  chair. 

"  Certainly.  You  didn't  suppose  I  could  escape,  did 
you?" 

"  Escape !  What  ?  "  demanded  Plank,  getting  red 
der. 

"  Escape  being  talked  about,  savagely,  mercilessly. 
Can't  you  see  how  it  helps?  Oh  dear,  are  you  stupid, 
Beverly?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Plank,  staring,  "  just  how 
stupid  I  am.  If  you  mean  that  I'm  compromising 
you " 

"  Oh,  please !  Why  do  you  use  back-stairs  words  ? 
268 


CONFESSIONS 


Nobody  talks  about  compromising  now;  all  that  went 
out  with  New  Year's  calls  and  brown-stone  stoops." 

"What  do  they  call  it,  then?"  asked  Plank  seri 
ously. 

"  Call  what?  you  great  boy ! " 

"  What  you  say  I'm  doing?  " 

"  I  don't  say  it." 

"Who  does?" 

Leila  laughed,  leaned  back  in  her  big,  padded  chair, 
dropping  one  knee  over  the  other.  Her  dark  eyes  with 
the  Japanese  slant  to  them  rested  mockingly  on  Plank, 
who  had  now  turned  completely  around  in  his  chair, 
leaving  his  half-written  cheque  on  her  escritoire  behind 
him. 

"  You're  simply  credited  with  an  affair  with  a  pretty 
woman,"  she  said,  watching  the  dull  colour  mounting  to 
his  temples,  "  and  that  is  certain  to  be  useful  to  you, 
and  it  doesn't  affect  me.  What  on  earth  are  you  blush 
ing  about?  "  And  as  he  said  nothing,  she  added,  with 
a  daring  little  laugh :  "  You  are  credited  with  being 
very  agreeable,  you  see." 

"  If — if  that's  the  way  you  take  it — "  he  began. 

"  Of  course !  What  do  you  expect  me  to  do— call 
for  help  before  I'm  hurt?  " 

"  You  mean  that  this  talk — gossip — doesn't  hurt?  " 

"  How  silly !  "  She  looked  at  him,  smiling.  "  You 
know  how  likely  I  am  to  require  protection  from  your 
importunities."  She  dropped  her  pretty  head,  and  be 
gan  plaiting  with  her  fingers  the  silken  gown  over  her 
knee.  "  Or  how  likely  I  would  be  to  shriek  for  it  even 
if  " — she  looked  up  with  childlike  directness — "  even  if 
I  needed  it." 

"  Of  course  you  can  take  care  of  yourself,"  said 
Plank,  wincing. 

269 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  I  could,  if  I  wanted  to." 

"  Everybody  knows  that.  I  know  it,  Leroy  knows 
it ;  only  I  don't  care  to  figure  as  that  kind  of  man." 

Already  he  had  lost  sight  of  her  position  in  the 
matter;  and  she  drew  a  long,  quiet  breath,  almost  like 
a  sigh. 

"  Time  enough  after  you  marry,"  she  said  delib 
erately,  and  lighted  a  cigarette  from  a  candle,  recrossing 
her  knees  the  other  way. 

He  considered  her,  started  to  speak,  checked  him 
self,  and  swung  around  to  the  desk  again.  His  pen 
hovered  over  the  space  to  be  filled  in.  He  tried  to  recol 
lect  the  amount,  hesitated,  dated  the  cheque  and  af 
fixed  his  signature,  still  trying  to  remember;  then  he 
looked  at  her  over  his  shoulder. 

"  I  forget  the  exact  amount." 

She  surveyed  him  through  the  haze  of  her  cigarette, 
but  made  no  answer. 

"  I  forget  the  amount,"  he  repeated. 

"  So  do  I,"  she  nodded  indolently. 

"  But  I " 

"Let  it  go.     Besides,  I  shall  not  accept  it." 

He  flushed  up,  astonished.  "  You  can't  refuse  to 
take  a  gambling  debt." 

"  I  do,"  she  retorted  coolly.  "  I'm  tired  of  taking 
your  money." 

"  But  you  won  it." 

"  I'm  tired  of  winning  it.  It  is  all  I  ever  do  win 
.  .  .  from  you." 

Her  pretty  head  was  wreathed  in  smoke.  She  tipped 
the  ashes  from  the  cigarette's  end,  watching  them  fall 
to  powder  on  the  rug. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he  persisted  dog 
gedly. 

270 


CONFESSIONS 


"Don't  you?  I  don't  believe  I  do,  either.  There 
are  intervals  in  my  career  which  might  prove  eloquent  if 
I  opened  my  lips.  But  I  don't,  except  to  make  floating 
rings  and  cabalistic  signs  out  of  cigarette  smoke.  Can 
you  read  their  meaning  ?  Look !  There  goes  one,  and 
there's  another,  and  another — all  twisting  and  uncurling 
into  hieroglyphics.  They  are  very  significant ;  they 
might  tell  you  a  lot  of  things,  if  you  would  only  trans 
late  them.  But  you  haven't  the  key — have  you  ?  " 

There  was  a  heavy,  jarring  step  in  the  main  living- 
room,  and  Mortimer's  bulk  darkened  the  doorway. 

"  Entrez,  mon  ami,"  nodded  Leila,  glancing  up. 
"Where  is  Agatha?" 

"  I'm  going  to  Desmond's,"  he  grunted,  ignoring 
his  wife's  question ;  "  do  you  want  to  try  it  again, 
Beverly?" 

"  I  can't  make  Leila  take  her  own  winnings,"  said 
Plank,  holding  out  the  signed  but  unfilled  cheque  to 
Mortimer,  who  took  it  and  scrutinised  it  for  a  moment, 
rubbing  his  heavy,  inflamed  eyes ;  then,  gesticulating, 
the  cheque  fluttering  in  his  puffy  fingers: 

"  Come  on,"  he  insisted.  "  I've  a  notion  that  I  can 
give  Desmond  a  whirl  that  he  won't  forget  in  a  hurry. 
Agatha's  asleep ;  she's  going  to  that  ball — where  is  it?  " 
he  demanded,  turning  on  his  wife.  "  Yes,  yes ;  the  Page 
blow-out.  You're  going,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Leila  nodded,  and  lighted  another  cigarette. 

"  All  right,"  continued  Mortimer  impatiently ;  "  you 
and  Agatha  won't  start  before  one.  And  if  you  think 
Plank  had  better  go,  why,  we'll  be  back  here  in  time." 

"  That  means  you  won't  be  back  at  all,"  observed  his 
wife  coolly ;  "  and  it's  good  policy  for  Beverly  to  go 
where  he's  asked.  Can't  you  turn  in  and  sleep,  now, 
and  amuse  your  friend  Desmond  to-morrow  night  ?  " 

271 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  No,  I  can't.  What  a  fool  I'd  be  to  let  a  chance 
slip  when  I  feel  like  a  winner !  " 

"  You  never  feel  otherwise  when  you  gamble,"  said 
Leila. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  he  retorted  peevishly.  "  I  can  tell  al 
most  every  time  what  the  cards  are  going  to  do  to  me. 
Leila,  go  to  sleep.  We'll  be  back  here  for  you  by  one, 
or  half  past." 

"  Look  here,  Leroy,"  began  Plank,  "  there's  one 
thing  I  can't  stand  for,  and  that's  this  continual  loss 
of  sleep.  If  I  go  with  you  I'll  not  be  fit  to  go  to  the 


"  What  a  farmer  you  are !  "  sneered  Mortimer.  "  I 
believe  you  roost  on  the  foot-board  of  your  bed,  like  a 
confounded  turkey.  Come  on!  You'd  better  begin 
training,  you  know.  People  in  this  town  are  not  going 
to  stand  for  the  merry  ploughboy  game,  you  see!  " 

But  Plank  was  shrewdly  covering  his  principal  rea 
son  for  declining ;  he  had  too  often  "  temporarily  "  as 
sisted  Mortimer  at  Desmond's  and  Burbank's,  when 
Mortimer,  cleaned  out  and  unable  to  draw  against  a 
balance  non-existent,  had  plucked  him  by  the  sleeve  from 
the  faro  table  with  the  breathless  request  for  a  loan. 

"  I  tell  you  I  can  wring  Desmond  dry  to-night,"  re 
peated  Mortimer  sullenly.  "  It  isn't  a  case  of  '  want  to,' 
either ;  it's  a  case  of  '  got  to.'  That  old  pink-and-white 
rabbit,  Belwether,  got  me  into  a  game  this  afternoon, 
and  between  him  and  Voucher  and  Alderdine  I'm 
stripped  clean  as  a  kennel  bone." 

But  Plank  shook  his  head,  pretending  to  yawn ;  and 
Mortimer,  glowering  and  lingering,  presently  went  off, 
his  swollen  hands  thrust  into  his  trousers'  pockets,  his 
gross  features  dark  with  disgust;  and  presently  they 
heard  the  front  door  slam,  and  a  rattling  tattoo  of 

272 


CONFESSIONS 


horses'  feet  on  the  asphalt ;  and  Leila  sprang  up  im 
patiently,  and,  passing  Plank,  traversed  the  passage  to 
the  windows  of  the  front  room. 

"  He's  taken  the  horses — the  beast ! "  she  said 
calmly,  as  Plank  joined  her  at  the  great  windows  and 
looked  out  into  the  night,  where  the  round,  drooping, 
flower-like  globes  of  the  electric  lamps  spread  a  lake 
of  silver  before  the  house. 

It  was  rather  rough  on  Leila.  The  Mortimers  main 
tained  one  pair  01  horses  only ;  and  the  use  given  them 
at  all  hours  resulted  in  endless  scenes,  and  an  utter  im 
possibility  for  Leila  to  retain  the  same  coachman  and 
footman  for  more  than  a  few  weeks  at  a  time. 

"  He  won't  come  back ;  he'll  keep  Martin  and  the 
horses  standing  in  front  of  Delmonico's  all  night. 
You'd  better  call  up  the  stables,  Beverly." 

So  Plank  called  up  a  livery  and  arranged  for  trans 
portation  at  one;  and  Leila  seated  herself  at  a  card- 
table  and  began  to  deal  herself  cold  decks,  thoughtfully. 

"That  bit  in  'Carmen,'"  she  said,  "it  always 
brings  the  shudder;  it  never  palls  on  me,  never  grows 
stale."  She  whipped  the  ominous  spade  from  the  pack 
and  held  it  out.  "  La  Mort!  "  she  exclaimed  in  mock 
tragedy,  yet  there  was  another  undertone  ringing 
through  it,  sounding,  too,  in  her  following  laugh. 
"  Draw ! "  she  commanded,  holding  out  the  pack ;  and 
Plank  drew  a  diamond. 

"  Naturally,"  she  nodded,  shuffling  the  pack  with 
her  smooth,  savant  fingers  and  laying  them  out  as  she 
repeated  the  formula :  "  Qui  frappe?  Qui  entre?  Qui 
prerid  chaise?  Qui  parle?  Oh,  the  deuce!  it's  always 
the  same!  Tiens!  je  m'enwii!  "  There  was  a  flash  of 
her  bare  arm,  a  flutter,  and  the  cards  fell  in  a  shower 
over  them  both. 

273 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Plank  flipped  a  card  from  his  knee,  laughing  un 
certainly,  aware  of  symptoms  in  his  pretty  vis-a-vis 
which  always  made  him  uncomfortable.  For  months, 
now,  at  certain  intervals,  these  recurrent  symptoms  had 
made  him  wary;  but  what  they  might  portend  he  did 
not  know,  only  that,  alone  with  her,  moments  occurred 
when  he  was  heavily  aware  of  a  tension  which,  after  a 
while,  affected  even  his  few  thick  nerves.  One  of  those 
intervals  was  threatening  now:  her  flushed  cheeks,  her 
feverish  activity  with  her  hands,  the  unconscious  reflex 
movement  of  her  silken  knees  and  restless  slippers,  all 
foreboded  it.  Next  would  come  the  nervous  laugh 
ter,  the  swift  epigram  which  bored  and  puzzled  him, 
the  veiled  badinage  he  was  unequal  to;  and  then  the 
hint  of  weariness,  the  curious  pathos  of  long  silences, 
the  burnt-out  beauty  of  her  eyes  from  which  the 
fire  had  gone  as  though  quenched  by  invisible  tears 
within. 

He  ascribed  it — desired  to  ascribe  it — to  her  rela 
tions  with  her  husband.  He  had  naturally  learned  and 
divined  how  matters  stood  with  them;  he  had  learned 
considerable  in  the  last  month  or  two — something  of 
Mortimer's  record  as  a  burly  brother  to  the  rich ;  some 
thing  of  his  position  among  those  who  made  no  ques 
tion  of  his  presence  anywhere.  Something  of  Leila,  too, 
he  had  heard,  or  rather  deduced  from  hinted  word  or 
shrug  or  smiling  silence,  not  meant  for  him,  but  indif 
ferent  to  what  he  might  hear  and  what  he  might  think 
of  what  he  heard. 

He  did  listen;  he  did  patiently  add  two  and  two  in 
the  long  solitudes  of  his  Louis  XV  chamber ;  and  if  the 
results  were  not  always  four,  at  least  they  came  within  a 
fraction  of  the  proper  answer.  And  this  did  not  alter 
his  policy  or  weaken  his  faith  in  his  mentors ;  nor  did 

274 


CONFESSIONS 


it  impair  his  real  gratitude  to  them,  and  his  real  and 
simple  friendship  for  them  both.  He  was  faithful  in 
friendship  once  formed,  obstinately  so,  for  better  or  for 
worse;  but  he  was  shrewd  enough  to  ignore  opportuni 
ties  for  friendships  which  he  foresaw  could  do  him  no 
good  on  his  plodding  pilgrimage  toward  the  temple  of 
his  inexorable  desire. 

Lifting,  now,  his  Delft-coloured  eyes  furtively,  he 
studied  the  silk-and-lace  swathed  figure  of  the  young 
matron  opposite,  flung  back  into  the  depths  of  her 
great  chair,  profile  turned  from  him,  her  chin  impris 
oned  in  her  ringed  fingers.  The  brooding  abandon  of 
the  attitude  contrasted  sharply  with  the  grooming  of 
the  woman,  making  both  the  more  effective. 

"  Turn  in,  if  you  want  to,"  she  said,  her  voice  in 
distinct,  smothered  by  her  pink  palm.  "  You're  to  dress 
in  Leroy's  quarters." 

"  I  don't  want  to  turn  in  just  yet." 

"  You  said  you  needed  sleep." 

"  I  do.     But  it's 'not  eleven  yet." 

She  slipped  into  another  posture,  reaching  for  a 
cigarette,  and,  setting  it  afire  from  the  match  he 
offered,  exhaled  a  cloud  of  smoke  and  looked  dreamily 
through  it  at  him. 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  colourless  voice. 
"  Tell  me,  for  I  don't  know.  Agatha?  Marion  Page? 
Mrs.  Vendennirig?  or  the  Tassel  girl?" 

"  Nobody — yet,"  he  admitted  cheerfully. 

"  Nobody — yet"  she  repeated,  musing  over  her 
cigarette.  "  That's  good  politics,  if  it's  true." 

"  Am  I  untruthful  ?  "  he  asked  simply. 

"  7  don't  know.    Are  you?    You're  a  man." 

"  Don't  talk  that  way,  Leila." 

"  No,  I  won't.  What  is  it  that  you  and  Sylvia 
275 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Landis  have  to  talk  about  so  continuously  every  time 
you  meet?  " 

"  She's  merely  civil  to  me,"  he  explained. 

"  That's  more  than  she  is  to  a  lot  of  people.  What 
do  you  talk  about?  " 

"  I  don't  know — nothing  in  particular ;  mostly  about 
Shotover,  and  the  people  there  last  summer." 

"  Doesn't  she  ever  mention  Stephen  Siward?  " 

"  Usually.     She  knows  I  like  him." 

"  She  likes  him,  too,"  said  Leila,  looking  at  him 
steadily. 

"  I  know  it.  Everybody  likes  him — or  did.  I  do, 
yet." 

"  I  do,  too,"  observed  Mrs.  Mortimer  coolly.  "  I 
was  in  love  with  him.  He  was  only  a  boy  then." 

Plank  nodded  in  silence. 

"  Where  is  he  now — do  you  know  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  Everybody  says  he's  gone  to  the  devil." 

"  He's  in  the  country  somewhere,"  replied  Plank 
cautiously.  "  I  stopped  in  to  see  him  the  other  day, 
but  nobody  seemed  to  know  when  he  would  return." 

Mrs.  Mortimer  tossed  her  cigarette  onto  the  hearth. 
For  a  long  interval  of  silence  she  lay  there  in  her  chair, 
changing  her  position  restlessly  from  moment  to  mo 
ment;  and  at  length  she  lay  quite  still,  so  long  that 
Plank  began  to  think  she  had  fallen  asleep  in  her  chair. 

He  rose.  She  did  not  stir,  and,  passing  her,  he 
instinctively  glanced  down.  Her  cheeks,  half  buried 
against  the  back  of  the  chair,  were  overflushed;  under 
the  closed  lids  the  lashes  glistened  wet  in  the  lamp 
light. 

Surprised,  embarrassed,  he  halted,  as  though  afraid 
to  move;  and  she  sat  up  with  a  nervous  shake  of  her 
shoulders. 

276 


What  a  life  !  '  she  said,  under  her  breath  ;  '  what  a  life 
for  a  woman  to  lead  !  '  ' 


CONFESSIONS 


"  What  a  life ! "  she  said,  under  her  breath ;  "  what 
a  life  for  a  woman  to  lead !  " 

"  Wh-whose?  "  he  blurted  out. 

"Mine!" 

He  stared  at  her  uneasily,  finding  nothing  to  say. 
He  had  never  before  heard  anything  like  this  from  her. 

"  Can't  anybody  help  me  out  of  it?  "  she  said 
quietly. 

"Who?     How?  .  .  .  Do  you  mean " 

"Yes,  I  mean  it!    I  mean  it  I    I " 

And  suddenly  she  broke  down,  in  a  strange,  stam 
mering,  tearless  way,  opening  the  dry  flood-gates  over 
which  rattled  an  avalanche  of  words — bitter,  breathless 
phrases  rushing  brokenly  from  lips  that  shrank  as  they 
formed  them. 

Plank  sat  inert,  the  corroding  echo  of  the  words 
clattering  in  his  ears.  And  after  a  while  he  heard 
his  own  altered  voice  sounding  persistently  in  repe 
tition  : 

"  Don't  say  those  things,  Leila ;  don't  tell  me  such 
things." 

"Why?    Don't  you  care?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  care ;  but  I  can't  do  anything !  I  have 
no  business  to  hear — to  see  you  this  way." 

"  To  whom  can  I  speak,  then,  if  I  can  not  speak  to 
you?  To  whom  can  I  turn?  Where  am  I  to  turn,  in 
all  the  world?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said  fearfully ;  "  the  only  way 
is  to  go  on." 

"  What  else  have  I  done  ?  What  else  am  I  doing  ?  " 
she  cried.  "  Go  on?  Am  I  not  trudging  on  and  on 
through  life,  dragging  the  horror  of  it  behind  me 
through  the  mud,  except  when  the  horror  drags  me? 
To  whom  am  I  to  turn — to  other  beasts  like  him? — 

277 


THE    FIGHTING    CHANCE 


sitting  patiently  around,  grinning  and  slavering,  await 
ing  their  turn  when  the  horror  of  it  crushes  me  to 
the  mud?  " 

She  stretched  out  a  rounded,  quivering  arm,  and  laid 
the  small  fingers  of  the  left  hand  on  its  flawless  contour. 
"  Look !  "  she  said,  exasperated,  "  I  am  young  yet ; 
the  horror  has  not  yet  corrupted  the  youth  in  me.  I 
am  fashioned  for  some  reason,  am  I  not? — for  some 
purpose,  some  happiness.  I  am  not  bad;  I  am  human. 
What  poison  has  soaked  into  me  can  be  eliminated.  I 
tell  you,  no  woman  is  capable  of  being  so  thoroughly 
poisoned  that  the  antidote  proves  useless. 

"  But  I  tell  you  men,  also,  that  unless  she  find  that 
antidote  she  will  surely  reinfect  herself.  A  man  can 
not  do  what  that  man  has  done  to  me  and  expect  me 
to  recover  unaided.  People  talk  of  me,  and  I  have  given 
them  subjects  enough!  But — look  at  me!  Straight 
between  the  eyes  !  Every  law  have  I  broken  except  that ! 
Do  you  understand?  That  one,  which  you  men  consider 
yourselves  exempt  from,  I  have  not  broken — yet !  Shall 
I  speak  plainer?  It  is  the  fashion  to  be  crude.  But — 
I  can't  be;  I  am  unfashionable,  you  see." 

She  laughed,  her  haunted  eyes  fixed  on  his. 

"  Is  there  no  chance  for  me?  Because  I  drag  his 
bedraggled  name  about  with  me  is  there  no  decent 
chance,  no  decent  hope?  Is  there  only  indecency  in 
prospect,  if  a  man  comes  to  care  for  a  married  woman? 
Can't  a  decent  man  love  her  at  all?  I — I  think " 

Her  hands,  outstretched,  trembled,  then  flew  to  her 
face;  and  she  stood  there  swaying,  until  Plank  perforce 
stepped  to  her  side  and  steadied  her  against  him. 

So  they  remained  for  a  while,  until  she  looked  up 
dazed,  weary,  ashamed,  expecting  nothing  of  him;  and 
when  it  came,  leaving  her  still  incredulous,  his  arms 

278 


CONFESSIONS 


around  her,  his  tense,  flushed  face  recoiling  from  their 
first  kiss,  she  did  not  seem  to  comprehend. 

"  I  can't  turn  on  him,"  he  stammered,  "  I — we  are 
friends,  you  see.  How  can  I  love  you,  if  that  is  so?  " 

"  Could  you  love  me?  "  she  asked  calmly. 

"  I — I  don't  know.  I  did  love — I  do  care  for — 
another  woman.  I  can't  marry  her,  though  I  am  given 
to  understand  there  is  a  chance.  Perhaps  it  is  partly 
ambition,"  he  said  honestly,  "  for  I  am  quite  sure  she 
has  never  cared  for  me,  never  thought  of  me  in  that 
way.  I  think  a  man  can't  stand  that  long." 

"  No;  only  women  can.     Who  is  she?  " 

"  You  won't  ask  me,  will  you?  " 

"  No.     Are  you  sorry  that  I  am  in  love  with  you?  " 

His  arms  unclasped  her  body,  and  he  stepped  back, 
facing  her. 

"  Are  you?  "  she  asked  violently. 

"  No." 

"  You  speak  like  a  ma/n"  she  said  tremulously. 
"  Am  I  to  be  permitted  to  adore  you  in  peace,  then — 
decently,  and  in  peace?  " 

"  Don't  speak  that  way,  Leila.  I — there  is  no 
woman,  no  friend,  I  care  for  as  much  as  I  do  you.  It 
is  easy,  I  think,  for  a  woman,  like  you,  to  make  a  man 
care  for  her.  You  will  not  do  it,  will  you?  " 

"  I  will,"  she  said  softly. 

"  It's  no  use ;  I  can't  turn  on  him.  I  can't !  He  is 
my  friend,  you  see." 

"  Let  him  remain  so.  I  shall  do  what  I  can.  Let 
him  remain  a  monument  to  his  fellow-beasts.  What  do 
I  care?  Do  you  think  I  desire  to  turn  you  into  his 
image?  Do  you  think  I  hope  for  your  degradation  and 
mine?  Are  you  afraid  I  should  not  recognise  love  un 
accompanied  by  the  attendant  beast  ?  I — I  don't  know ; 
19  279 


THE    FIGHTING    CHANCE 

you  had  better  teach  me,  if  I  prove  blind.  If  you  can 
love  me,  do  so  in  charity  before  I  go  blind  forever." 

She  laid  one  hand  on  his  arm,  looked  at  him,  then 
turned  and  passed  slowly  through  the  doorway. 

"  If  you  are  going  to  sleep  before  we  start  you  had 
better  be  about  it !  "  she  said,  looking  back  at  him  from 
the  stairs. 

But  he  had  no  further  need  of  sleep ;  and  for  a  long 
while  he  stood  at  the  windows  watching  the  lamps  of 
cabs  and  carriages  sparkling  through  the  leafless  thick 
ets  of  the  park  like  winter  fire-flies. 

At  one  o'clock,  hearing  Agatha  Caithness  speak  to 
Leila's  maid,  he  left  the  window,  and  sitting  down  at  the 
desk,  telephoned  to  Desmond's;  and  he  was  informed 
that  Mortimer,  hard  hit,  had  signified  his  intention  of 
recouping  at  Burbank's.  Then  he  managed  to  get  Bur- 
bank's  on  the  wire,  and  finally  Mortimer  himself,  but 
was  only  cursed  for  his  pains  and  cut  off  in  the  middle 
of  his  pleading. 

So  he  wandered  up-stairs  into  Mortimer's  apart 
ments,  where  he  tubbed  and  dressed,  and  finally  de 
scended,  to  find  Agatha  Caithness  alone  in  the  library, 
spinning  a  roulette  wheel  and  whistling  an  air  from 
"  La  Bacchante." 

"That's  pretty,"  he  said;  "sing  it." 

"  No ;  it's  better  off  without  the  words ;  and  so  are 
you,"  added  Agatha  candidly,  relinquishing  the  wheel 
and  strolling  with  languid  grace  about  the  room,  hands 
on  her  hips,  timing  her  vagrant  steps  to  the  indolent, 
wicked  air.  And, 

"  (  Je  rougirais  de  mon  ivresse 
Si  tu  conservais  to,  raison  !  ' ' 

she  hummed  deliberately,  pivoting  on  her  heels  and  ad- 

280 


CONFESSIONS 


vancing  again  toward  Plank,  her  pretty,  pale  face  deli 
cate  as  an  enamelled  cameo  under  the  flood  of  light  from 
the  crystal  chandeliers. 

"  I  understand  that  Mr.  Mortimer  is  not  coming 
with  us,"  she  said  carelessly.  "  Are  you  going  to  dance 
with  me,  if  I  find  nobody  better?  " 

He  expressed  himself  flattered,  cautiously.  He  was 
one  of  many  who  never  understood  this  tall,  white,  low- 
voiced  girl,  with  eyes  too  pale  for  beauty,  yet  strangely 
alluring,  too.  Few  men  denied  the  indefinable  enchant 
ment  of  her ;  few  men  could  meet  her  deep-lidded,  trans 
parent  gaze  unmoved.  In  the  sensitive  curve  of  her 
mouth  there  was  a  kind  of  sensuousness  ;  in  her  low  voice, 
in  her  pallor,  in  the  slim  grace  of  her  a  vague  provoca 
tion  that  made  men  restless  and  women  silently  curious 
for  something  more  definite  on  which  to  base  their 
curiosity. 

She  was  wearing,  over  the  smooth,  dead-white  skin 
of  her  neck,  a  collar  of  superb  diamonds  and  aqua 
marines — almost  an  effrontery,  as  the  latter  were  even 
darker  than  her  eyes ;  yet  the  strange  and  effective  har 
mony  was  evident,  and  Plank  spoke  of  the  splendour  of 
the  gems. 

S-he  nodded  indifferently,  saying  they  were  new,  and 
that  she  had  picked  them  up  at  Tiffany's ;  and  he  men 
tally  sketched  out  the  value  of  the  diamonds,  a  trifle 
surprised,  because  Leila  Mortimer  had  carefully  in 
formed  him  about  the  condition  of  the  Caithness  ex 
chequer. 

That  youthful  matron  herself  appeared  in  a  few  mo 
ments,  very  lustrous,  very  lovely  in  her  fragrant,  exotic 
brightness,  and  Plank  for  the  first  time  thought  that 
she  was  handsome — the  vigorous,  youthful  incarnation 
of  Life  itself,  in  contrast  to  Agatha's  almost  deathly 

281 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

beauty.  She  greeted  him  not  only  without  a  trace  of 
embarrassment,  but  with  such  a  friendly,  fresh,  gay 
confidence  that  he  scarcely  recognised  in  her  the  dry- 
eyed,  feverish  woman  of  an  hour  ago,  whose  very  lips 
shrank  back,  scorched  by  the  torrent  of  her  own  in 
vective. 

And  so  they  drove  the  three  short  blocks  to  the 
Page's  in  their  hired  livery ;  the  street  was  inadequate 
for  the  crush  of  vehicles ;  and  the  glittering  pressure 
within  the  house  was  outrageous ;  all  of  which  confused 
Plank,  who  became  easily  confused  by  such  things. 

How  they  got  in — how  they  managed  to  present 
themselves — who  took  Leila  and  Agatha  from  him — 
where  they  went — where  he  himself  might  be — he  did 
not  understand  very  clearly.  The  house  was  large, 
strange,  full  of  strangers.  He  attempted  to  obtain  his 
bearings  by  wandering  about  looking  for  a  small  rococo 
reception-room  where  he  remembered  he  had  once  talked 
kennel  talk  with  Marion  Page,  and  had  on  another  oc 
casion  perspired  freely  under  the  arrogant  and  strabis- 
mic  glare  of  her  mother.  That  good  lady  had  really 
rather  liked  him ;  he  never  suspected  it. 

But  he  couldn't  find  the  rococo  room — or  perhaps 
he  didn't  recognise  it.  So  many  people — so  many, 
many  people  whom  he  did  not  know,  whom  he  had  never 
before  laid  eyes  on — high-bred  faces  hard  as  diamonds ; 
young,  gay,  laughing  faces;  brilliant  eyes  encountering 
his  without  a  softening  of  recognition ;  clean-cut,  attrac 
tive  men  in  swarms,  all  animated,  all  amused,  all  at  home 
among  themselves  and  among  the  silken  visions  of  love 
liness  passing  and  repassing,  with  here  an  extended 
gloved  arm  and  the  cordial  greeting  of  camaraderie, 
there  a  quick  smile,  a  swift  turn  in  passing,  a  capricious 
bending  forward  for  a  whisper,  a  compliment,  a  jest — 


CONFESSIONS 


all  this  swept  by  him,  around  him,  enveloping  him  with 
its  brightness,  its  gaiety,  its  fragrance,  and  left  him 
more  absolutely  alone  than  he  had  ever  been  in  all  his 
life. 

He  tried  to  find  Leila,  and  gave  it  up.  He  saw 
Quarrier  talking  to  Agatha,  but  the  former  saluted  him 
so  coldly  that  he  turned  away. 

After  a  while  he  found  Marion,  but  she  hadn't  a 
dance  left  for  him;  neither  had  Rena  Bonnesdel,  whom 
he  encountered  while  she  was  adroitly  avoiding  one  of 
the  ever-faithful  twins.  The  twin  caught  up  with  her 
in  consequence,  and  she  snubbed  Plank  for  his  share  in 
the  disaster,  which  depressed  him,  and  he  started  for 
the  smoking-room,  wherever  that  haven  might  be  found. 
He  got  into  the  ball-room,  however,  by  mistake,  and 
adorned  the  wall,  during  the  cotillon,  as  closely  as  his 
girth  permitted,  until  an  old  lady  sent  for  him;  and 
he  went  and  talked  about  bishops  for  nearly  an  hour  to 
her,  until  his  condition  bordered  on  frenzy,  the  old  lady 
being  deaf  and  peevish. 

Later,  Alderdene  used  him  to  get  rid  of  an  angular, 
old  harridan  who  seemed  to  be  one  solid  diamond-mine, 
and  who  drove  him  into  a  corner  and  talked  indelicacies 
until  Plank's  broad  face  flamed  like  the  setting  sun. 
Then  Captain  Voucher  unloaded  a  frightened  debutante 
on  him  who  tried  to  talk  about  horses  and  couldn't ;  and 
they  hated  each  other  for  a  while,  until,  looking  around 
her  in  desperation,  she  found  he  had  vanished — which 
was  quick  work  for  a  man  of  his  size. 

Kathryn  Tassel  employed  him  for  supper,  and  kept 
him  busy  while  she  herself  was  immersed  in  a  dawning 
affair  with  Fleetwood.  She  did  everything  to  him  ex 
cept  to  tip  him ;  and  her  insolence  was  the  last  straw. 

Then,  unexpectedly  in  the  throng,  two  wonderful 
283 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

sea-blue  eyes  encountered  his,  deepening  to  violet  with 
pleasure,  and  the  trailing  sweetness  of  a  voice  he  knew 
was  repeating  his  name,  and  a  slim,  white-gloved  hand 
lay  in  his  own. 

Her  escort,  Ferrall,  nodded  to  him  pleasantly.  She 
leaned  forward  from  Ferrall's  arm,  saying,  under  her 
breath,  "  I  have  saved  a  dance  for  you.  Please  ask  me 
at  once.  Quick!  do  you  want  me?" 

"  I — I  do,"  stammered  Plank. 

Ferrall,  suspicious,  stepped  forward  to  exchange 
civilities,  then  turning  to  the  girl  beside  him :  "  See  here, 
Sylvia,  you've  dragged  me  all  over  this  house  on  one 
pretext  or  another.  Do  you  want  any  supper,  or  don't 
you?  If  you  don't,  it's  our  dance." 

"  No,  I  don't.    No,  it  isn't.    Kemp,  you  annoy  me !  " 

"  That's  a  nice  thing  to  say !  Is  it  your  delicately 
inimitable  way  of  giving  me  my  conge?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  nodded  Miss  Landis  coolly ; 
"  you  may  go  now." 

"  You're  spoiled,  that's  what's  the  matter,"  retorted 
Ferrall  wrathfully.  "  I  thought  I  was  to  have  this 
dance.  You  said " 

"  I  said  '  perhaps,'  because  I  didn't  see  Mr.  Plank 
coming  to  claim  it.  Thank  you,  Kemp,  for  finding 
him." 

Her  nod  and  smile  took  the  edge  from  her  malice. 
Ferrall,  who  really  adored  dancing,  glared  about  for 
anybody,  and  presently  cornered  the  frightened  and 
neglected  debutante  who  had  hated  Plank. 

Sylvia,  standing  beside  Plank,  looked  up  at  him 
with  her  confident  and  friendly  smile. 

"  You  don't  care  to  dance,  do  you  ?  Would  you 
mind  if  we  sat  out  this  dance  ?  " 

"  If  you'd  rather,"  he  said,  so  wistfully  that  she 
284 


CONFESSIONS 


hesitated;  then  with  a  little  shrug  laid  one  hand  on  his 
arm,  and  they  swung  out  across  the  floor  together,  into 
the  scented  whirl. 

Plank,  like  many  heavy  men,  danced  beautifully; 
and  Sylvia,  who  still  loved  dancing  with  all  the  ardour 
of  a  schoolgirl,  permitted  a  moment  or  two  of  keen  de 
light  to  sweep  her  dreamily  from  her  purpose.  But  that 
purpose  must  have  been  a  strong  one,  for  she  returned 
to  it  in  a  few  minutes,  and,  looking  up  at  Plank,  said 
very  gently  that  she  cared  to  dance  no  more. 

Her  hand  resting  lightly  on  his  arm,  it  did  not  seem 
possible  that  any  pressure  of  hers  was  directing  them 
to  the  conservatory ;  yet  he  did  not  know  where  he  was 
going,  and  she  was  familiar  with  the  house,  and  they 
soon  entered  the  conservatory,  where,  in  the  shadow  of 
various  palms  various  youths  looked  up  impatiently  as 
they  passed,  and  various  maidens  sat  up  very  straight  in 
their  chairs. 

Threading  their  dim  way  into  the  farther  recesses 
they  found  seats  among  thickets  of  forced  lilacs  over 
hung  by  early  wistaria.  A  spring-like  odour  hung  in 
the  air;  somewhere  a  tiny  fountain  grew  musical  in  the 
semi-darkness. 

"  Marion  told  me  you  had  been  asked,"  she  said. 
"  We  have  been  so  friendly ;  you've  always  asked  me  to 
dance  whenever  we  have  met ;  so  I  thought  I'd  save  you 
one.  Are  you  flattered,  Mr.  Plank  ?  " 

He  said  he  was,  very  pleasantly,  perfectly  unde 
ceived,  and  convinced  of  her  purpose — a  purpose  never 
even  tacitly  admitted  between  them;  and  the  old  loneli 
ness  came  over  him  again — not  resentment,  for  he  was 
willing  that  she  should  use  him.  Why  not?  Others  used 
him ;  everybody  used  him ;  and  if  they  found  no  use  for 
him  they  let  him  alone.  Mortimer,  Fleetwood,  Bel- 

285 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

wether — all,  all  had  something  to  exact  from  him.  It 
was  for  that  he  was  tolerated — he  knew  it;  he  had  slowly 
and  unwillingly  learned  it.  His  intrusion  among  these 
people,  of  whom  he  was  not  one,  would  be  endured  only 
while  he  might  be  turned  to  some  account.  The  hos 
pital  used  him,  the  clergy  found  plenty  for  him  to  do 
for  them,  the  museum  had  room  for  other  pictures  of 
his.  Who  among  them  all  had  ever  sought  him  without 
a  motive?  Who  among  them  all  had  ever  found  unsel 
fish  pleasure  in  him?  Not  one. 

Something  in  the  dull  sadness  of  his  face,  as  he  sat 
there,  checked  the  first  elaborately  careless  question  her 
lips  were  already  framing.  Leaning  a  little  nearer  in 
the  dim  light  she  looked  at  him  inquiringly  and  he  re 
turned  her  gaze  in  silence. 

"  What  is  it,  Mr.  Plank,"  she  said ;  "  is  anything 
wrong?  " 

He  knew  that  she  did  not  mean  to  ask  if  anything 
was  amiss  with  him.  She  did  not  care.  Nobody  cared. 
So,  recognising  his  cue,  he  answered :  "  No,  nothing  is 
wrong  that  I  have  heard  of." 

"  You  wear  a  very  solemn  countenance." 

"  Gaiety  affects  me  solemnly,  sometimes.  It  is  a  re 
action  from  frivolity.  I  suppose  that  I  am  over-enjoy 
ing  life;  that  is  all." 

She  laughed,  using  her  fan,  although  the  place  was 
cool  enough  and  she  had  not  been  dancing.  To  and  fro 
flitted  the  silken  vanes  of  her  fan,  now  closing  impa 
tiently,  now  opening  again  like  the  wings  of  a  nervous 
moth  in  the  moonlight. 

He  wished  she  would  come  to  her  point,  but  he  dared 
not  lead  her  to  it  too  brusquely,  because  her  purpose 
and  her  point  were  supposed  to  be  absolutely  hidden 
from  his  thick  and  credulous  understanding.  It  had 

286 


CONFESSIONS 


taken  him  some  time  to  make  this  clear  to  himself ;  pass 
ing  from  suspicion,  through  chagrin  and  overwounded 
feeling,  to  dull  certainty  that  she,  too,  was  using  him, 
harmlessly  enough  from  her  standpoint,  but  how  bit 
terly  from  his,  he  alone  could  know. 

The  quickened  flutter  of  her  fan  meant  impatience 
to  learn  from  him  what  she  had  come  to  him  to  learn, 
and  then,  satisfied,  to  leave  him  alone  again  amid  the 
peopled  solitude  of  clustered  lights. 

He  wished  she  would  speak ;  he  was  tired  of  the  sad 
ness  of  it  all.  Whenever  in  his  isolation,  in  his  utter 
destitution  of  friendship,  he  turned  guilelessly  to  meet 
a  new  advance,  always,  sooner  or  later,  the  friendly  mask 
was  lifted  enough  for  him  to  divine  the  cool,  fixed  gaze 
of  self-interest  inspecting  him  through  the  damask  slits. 

Sylvia  was  speaking  now,  and  the  plumy  fan  was 
under  savant  control,  waving  graceful  accompaniment 
to  her  soft  voice,  punct'uating  her  sentences  at  times, 
at  times  making  an  emphasis  or  outlining  a  gesture. 

It  was  the  familiar  sequence;  topics  that  led  to 
themes  which  adroitly  skirted  the  salient  point ;  returned 
capriciously,  just  avoiding  it — a  subtly  charming  pat 
tern  of  words  which  required  so  little  in  reply  that  his 
smile  and  nod  were  almost  enough  to  keep  her  aria  and 
his  accompaniment  afloat. 

It  began  to  fascinate  him  to  watch  the  delicacy  of 
her  strategy,  the  coquetting  with  her  purpose ;  her  naive 
advance  to  the  very  edges  of  it,  the  airy  retreat,  the 
innocent  detour,  the  elaborate  and  circuitous  return. 
And  at  last  she  drifted  into  it  so  naturally  that  it 
seemed  impossible  that  fatuous  man  could  have  the  most 
primitive  suspicion  of  her  premeditation. 

And  Plank,  now  recognising  his  cue,  answered  her: 
"  No,  I  have  not  heard  that  he  is  in  town.  I  stopped 

287 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

to  see  him  the  other  day,  but  nobody  there  knew  how 
soon  he  intended  to  return  from  the  country." 

"  I  didn't  know  he  had  gone  to  the  country,"  she 
said  without  apparent  interest. 

And  Plank  was  either  too  kind  to  terminate  the 
subject,  or  too  anxious  to  serve  his  turn  and  release  her; 
for  he  went  on :  "  I  thought  I  told  you  at  Mrs.  Ferrall's 
that  Mr.  Siward  had  gone  to  the  country." 

"  Perhaps  you  did.     No  doubt  I've  forgotten." 

"  I'm  quite  sure  I  did,  because  I  remember  saying 
that  he  looked  very  ill,  and  you  said,  rather  sharply, 
that  he  had  no  business  to  be  ill.  Do  you  remember  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  slowly.     "  Is  he  better?  " 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  You  hope  so?  " — with  the  controlled  emphasis  of 
impatience. 

"  Yes.  Don't  you,  Miss  Landis?  When  I  saw  him 
at  his  home,  he  was  lame — on  crutches — and  he  looked 
rather  ghastly;  and  all  he  said  was  that  he  expected 
to  leave  for  the  country.  I  asked  him  to  shoot  next 
year  at  Black  Fells,  and  he  seemed  bothered  about  busi 
ness,  and  said  it  might  keep  him  from  taking  any  va 
cation." 

"  He  spoke  about  his  business  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he " 

"  What  is  the  trouble  with  his  business  ?  Is  it  any 
thing  about  Amalgamated  and  Inter-County  ?  " 

"  I  think  so." 

"  Is  he  worried  ?  " 

Plank  said  deliberately :  "  I  should  be,  if  my  inter 
ests  were  locked  up  in  Amalgamated  Electric." 

"  Could  you  tell  me  why  that  would  worry  you  ?  " 
she  asked,  smiling  persuasively  across  at  him. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  can't  tell  you." 
288 


CONFESSIONS 


"  Because  I  wouldn't  understand?  " 

"  Because  I  myself  don't  understand." 

She  thought  awhile,  brushing  the  rose  velvet  of  her 
mouth  with  the  fan's  edge,  then,  looking  up  confidently : 

"  Mr.  Siward  is  such  a  boy.  I'm  so  glad  he  has  you 
to  advise  him  in  such  matters." 

"What  matters?"  asked  Plank  bluntly. 

"  Why,  in — in  financial  matters." 

"  But  I  don't  advise  him." 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  Because  he  hasn't  asked  me  to,  Miss  Landis." 

"  He  ought  to  ask  you.  .  .  .  He  must  ask  you.  .  .  . 
Don't  wait  for  him,  Mr.  Plank.  He  is  only  a  boy  in 
such  things." 

And,  as  Plank  was  silent: 

"  You  will,  won't  you?  " 

"  Do  what — make  his  business  my  business,  without 
an  invitation  ?  "  asked  Plank,  so  quietly  that  she  flushed 
with  annoyance. 

"  If  you  pretend  to  be  his  friend  is  it  not  your  duty 
to  advise  him?  "  she  asked  impatiently. 

"  No ;  that  is  for  his  business  associates  to  do. 
Friendship  comes  to  grief  when  it  crosses  the  frontiers 
of  business." 

"  That  is  a  narrow  view  to  take,  Mr.  Plank." 

"  Yes,  straight  and  narrow.  The  boundaries  of 
friendship  are  straight  and  narrow.  It  is  best  to  keep 
to  the  trodden  path;  best  not  to  walk  on  the  grass  or 
trample  the  flowers." 

"  I  think  you  are  sacrificing  friendship  for  an  epi 
gram,"  she  said,  careless  of  the  undertone  of  contempt 
in  her  voice. 

"  I  have  never  sacrificed  friendship."  He  turned, 
and  looked  at  her  pleasantly.  "  I  never  made  an  epi- 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

gram  consciously,  and  I  have  never  required  of  a 
friend  more  than  I  had  to  offer  in  return.  Have  you?  " 

The  flush  of  hot  displeasure  stained  her  cheeks. 

"Are  you  really  questioning  me,  Mr.  Plank?" 

"  Yes.  You  have  been  questioning  me  rather  seri 
ously — have  you  not?  " 

"  I  did  not  comprehend  your  definition  of  friendship. 
I  did  not  agree  with  it.  I  questioned  it,  not  you !  That 
is  all." 

Plank  rested  his  head  on  one  big  hand  and  stared 
at  the  clusters  of  dim  blossoms  behind  her;  and  after  a 
while  he  said,  as  though  thinking  aloud: 

"  Many  have  taken  my  friendship  for  granted,  and 
have  never  offered  their  own  in  return.  I  do  not  know 
about  Mr.  Siward.  There  is  nothing  I  can  do  for  him, 
nothing  he  can  do  for  me.  If  there  is  to  be  friendship 
between  us  it  will  be  disinterested ;  and  I  would  rather 
have  that  than  anything  in  the  world,  I  think." 

There  was  a  pause;  but  when  Sylvia  would  have 
broken  it  his  gesture  committed  her  to  silence  with  the 
dignity  one  might  use  in  checking  a  persistent  child. 

"  You  question  my  definition  of  friendship,  Miss 
Landis.  I  should  have  let  your  question  pass,  however 
keenly  it  touched  me,  had  it  not  also  touched  him.  Now 
I  am  going  to  say  some  things  which  lie  within  the 
straight  and  narrow  bounds  I  spoke  of.  I  never  knew 
a  man  I  cared  for  as  much  as  I  care  for  Mr.  Siward. 
I  know  why,  too.  He  is  disinterested.  I  do  not  believe 
he  wastes  very  many  thoughts  on  me.  Perhaps  he  will. 
I  want  him  to  like  me,  if  it's  possible.  But  one  thing 
you  and  I  may  be  sure  of :  if  he  does  not  care  to  return 
the  friendship  I  offer  him  he  will  never  accept  anything 
else  from  me,  though  he  might  give  at  my  request ;  and 
that  is  the  sort  of  a  man  he  is;  and  that  is  why  he  is 

290 


CONFESSIONS 


every  inch  a  man;  and  so  I  like  him,  Miss  Landis.  Do 
you  wonder?  " 

She  did  not  reply. 

"  Do  you  wonder?  "  he  repeated  sharply. 

"  No,"  she  said. 

"  Then — "  He  straightened  up,  and  the  silent  sig 
nificance  of  his  waiting  attitude  was  plain  enough  to 
her. 

But  she  shook  her  head  impatiently,  saying :  "  I 
don't  know  whose  dance  it  is,  and  I  don't  care.  Please 
go  on.  It  is — is  pleasant.  I  like  Mr.  Siward;  I  like 
to  hear  men  speak  of  him  as  you  do.  I  like  you  for 
doing  it.  If  you  should  ever  come  to  care  for  my 
friendship  that  is  the  best  passport  to  it — your  loyalty 
to  Mr.  Siward." 

"  No  man  can  truthfully  speak  otherwise  than  I 
have  spoken,"  he  said  gravely. 

"  No,  not  of  these  things.  But — you  know  w-what 
is — is  usually  said  when  his  name  comes  up  among  men." 

"  Do  you  mean  about  his  habits  ?  "  he  asked  simply. 

"  Yes.  Is  it  not  an  outrage  to  drag  in  that  sort 
of  thing?  It  angers  me  intensely,  Mr.  Plank.  Why 
do  they  do  it?  Is  there  a  single  one  among  them  quali 
fied  to  criticise  Mr.  Siward?  And  besides,  it  is  not  true 
any  more !  ...  is  it  ? — what  was  once  said  of  him  with 
— with  some  truth  ?  7s  it  ?  " 

The  dull  red  blood  mantled  Plank's  heavy  visage. 
The  silence  grew  grim  as  he  did  his  slow,  laborious 
thinking,  the  while  his  eyes,  expressionless  and  almost 
opaque  in  the  dim  light,  never  left  her's,  until,  under 
the  unchanging,  merciless  inspection,  the  mask  dropped 
for  an  instant  from  her  anxious  face,  and  he  saw  what 
he  saw. 

He  was  no  fool.     What  he  had  come  to  believe  she 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 


at  last  had  only  confirmed;  and  now  the  question  be 
came  simple:  was  she  worth  enlightening?  And  by 
what  title  did  she  demand  his  confidence? 

"  You  ask  me  if  it  is  true  any  more.  You  mean 
about  his  habits.  If  I  answer  you  it  is  because  I  cannot 
be  indifferent  to  what  concerns  him.  But  before  I  an 
swer  I  ask  you  this:  Would  your  interest  in  his  for 
tunes  matter  to  him  ?  " 

She  waited,  head  bent;  then: 

"  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Plank,"  very  low. 

"  Did  your  interest  in  his  fortunes  ever  concern 
him?" 

"  Yes,  once." 

He  looked  at  her  sternly,  his  jaw  squaring  until  his 
heavy  under  lip  projected.  "  Within  my  definition  of 
friendship,  is  he  your  friend?  " 

"  You  mean  he " 

"  No,  I  mean  you !  I  can  answer  for  him.  How  is 
it  with  you?  Do  you  return  what  he  gives — if  there  is 
really  friendship  between  you  ?  Or  do  you  take  what  he 
offers,  offering  nothing  in  return?  " 

She  had  turned  rather  white  under  the  direct  im 
pact  of  the  questions.  The  jarring  repetition  of  his 
voice  itself  was  like  the  dull  echo  of  distant  blows.  Yet 
it  never  occurred  to  her  to  resent  it,  nor  his  attitude, 
nor  his  self-assumed  privilege.  She  did  not  care;  she 
no  longer  cared  what  he  said  to  her  or  thought  about 
her;  nor  did  she  care  that  her  mask  had  fallen  at  last. 
It  was  not  what  he  was  saying,  but  what  her  own  heart 
repeated  so  heavily  that  drove  the  colour  from  her  face. 
Not  he,  but  she  herself  had  become  the  pitiless  attorney 
for  the  prosecution;  not  his  voice,  but  the  clamouring 
conscience  within  her  demanded  by  what  right  she  used 
the  name  of  friendship  to  characterise  the  late  rela- 


CONFESSIONS 


tions  between  her  and  the  man  to  whom  she  had  denied 
herself. 

Then  a  bitter  impatience  swept  her,  and  a  dawning 
fear,  too;  for  she  had  set  her  foot  on  the  fallen  mask, 
and  the  impulse  rendered  her  reckless. 

"  Why  don't  you  speak  ?  "  she  said.  "  Yes,  I  have 
a  right  to  know.  I  care  for  him  as  much  as  you  do. 
Why  don't  you  answer  me?  I  tell  you  I  care  for 
him!" 

"Do  you?"  he  said  in  a  dull  voice.  "Then  help 
me  out,  if  you  can,  for  I  don't  know  what  to  do;  and 
if  I  did,  I  haven't  the  authority  of  friendship  as  my 
warrant.  He  is  in  New  York.  He  did  go  to  the  coun 
try  ;  and,  at  his  home,  the  servants  suppose  he  is  still 
away.  But  he  isn't ;  he  is  here,  alone,  and  sick — sick  of 
his  old  sickness.  I  saw  him,  and  " — Plank  rested  his 
head  on  his  hand,  dropping  his  eyes — "  and  he  didn't 
know  me.  I — I  do  not.  think  he  will  remember  that  he 
met  me,  or  that  I  spoke.  And — I  could  do  nothing, 
absolutely  nothing.  And  I  don't  know  where  he  is.  He 
will  go  home  after  a  while.  I  call — every  day — to  see — 
see  what  can  be  done.  But  if  he  were  there  I  would  not 
know  what  to  do.  When  he  does  go  home  I  won't  know 
what  to  say — what  to  try  to  do.  .  .  .  And  that  is  an 
answer  to  your  question,  Miss  Landis.  I  give  it,  be 
cause  you  say  you  care  for  him  as  I  do.  Will  you 
advise  me  what  to  do? — you,  who  are  more  entitled 
than  I  am  to  know  the  truth,  because  he  has  given 
you  the  friendship  which  he  has  as  yet  not  accorded 
to  me." 

But  Sylvia,  dry-eyed,  dry-lipped,  could  find  no 
voice  to  answer;  and  after  a  little  while  they  rose  and 
moved  through  the  fragrant  gloom  toward  the  spark 
ling  lights  beyond. 

293 


THE    FIGHTING    CHANCE 

Her  voice  came  back  as  they  entered  the  brilliant 
rooms :  "  I  should  like  to  find  Grace  Ferrall,"  she  said 
very  distinctly.  "  Please  keep  the  others  off,  Mr. 
Plank." 

Her  small  hand  on  his  arm  lay  with  a  weight  out 
of  all  proportion  to  its  size.  Fair  head  averted,  she  no 
longer  guided  him  with  that  impalpable  control;  it  was 
he  who  had  become  the  pilot  now,  and  he  steered  his 
own  way  through  the  billowy  ocean  of  silk  and  lace, 
master  of  the  course  he  had  set9  heavily  bland  to  the 
interrupter  and  the  importunate  from  whom  she  turned 
a  deaf  ear  and  dumb  lips,  and  lowered  eyes  that  saw 
nothing. 

Fleetwood  had  missed  his  dance  with  her,  but  she 
scarcely  heard  his  eager  complaints.  Quarrier,  coldly 
inquiring,  confronted  them;  was  passed  almost  without 
recognition,  and  left  behind,  motionless,  looking  after 
them  out  of  his  narrowing,  black-fringed  eyes  of  a 
woman. 

Then  Ferrall  came,  and  hearing  his  voice,  she 
raised  her  colourless  face. 

"  Will  you  take  me  home  with  you,  Kemp,  when  you 
take  Grace  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Of  course.  I  don't  know  where  Grace  is.  Are 
you  in  a  hurry  to  go?  It's  only  four  o'clock." 

They  were  at  the  entrance  to  the  supper-room. 
Plank  drew  up  a  chair  for  her,  and  she  sank  down, 
dropping  her  elbows  on  the  small  table,  and  resting  her 
face  between  her  fingers. 

"Pegged  out,  Sylvia?"  exclaimed  Ferrall  incredu 
lously.  "  You?  What's  the  younger  set  coming  to?  " 
and  he  motioned  a  servant  to  fill  her  glass.  But  she 
pushed  it  aside  with  a  shiver,  and  gave  Plank  a  strange 
look  which  he  scarcely  understood  at  the  moment. 

294 


CONFESSIONS 


"  More  caprices ;  all  sorts  of  'em  on  the  programme," 
muttered  Ferrall,  looking  down  at  her  from  where  he 
stood  beside  Plank.  "  0  tempora  !  O  Sylvia !  .  .  . 
Plank,  would  you  mind  hunting  up  my  wife?  I'll  stay 
and  see  that  this  infant  doesn't  fall  asleep." 

But  Sylvia  shook  her  head,  saying :  "  Please  go, 
Kemp.  I'm  a  little  tired,  that's  all.  When  Grace  is 
ready,  I'll  leave  with  her."  And  at  her  gesture  Plank 
seated  himself,  while  Ferrall,  shrugging  his  square 
shoulders,  sauntered  off  in  quest  of  his  wife,  stopping 
a  moment  at  a  neighbouring  table  to  speak  to  Agatha 
Caithness,  who  sat  there  with  Captain  Voucher,  the 
gemmed  collar  on  her  slender  throat  a  pale  blaze  of 
splendour. 

Plank  was  hungry,  and  he  said  so  in  his  direct 
fashion.  Sylvia  nodded,  and  exchanged  a  smile  with 
Agatha,  who  turned  at  the  sound  of  Plank's  voice.  For 
a  while,  as  he  ate  and  drank  largely,  she  made  the  ef 
fort  to  keep  up  a  desultory  conversation,  particularly 
when  anybody  to  whom  she  owed  an  explanation  hove 
darkly  in  sight  on  the  horizon.  But  Plank's  appetite 
was  in  proportion  to  the  generous  lines  on  which  nature 
had  fashioned  him,  and  she  paid  less  and  less  attention 
to  convention  and  a  trifle  more  to  the  beauty  of 
Agatha's  jewels,  until  the  silence  at  the  small  table  in 
the  corner  remained  unbroken  except  by  the  faint  tinkle 
of  silver  and  crystal  and  the  bubbling  hiss  of  a  glass 
refilled. 

Major  Belwether,  his  white,  fluffy,  chop- whiskers 
brushed  rabbit  fashion,  peeped  in  at  the  door,  started 
to  tiptoe  out  again,  caught  sight  of  them,  and  came 
trotting  back,  beaming  rosy  effusion.  He  leaned  ro 
guishly  over  the  table,  his  moist  eyes  a-twinkle  with  sup 
pressed  mirth;  then,  bestowing  a  sprightly  glance  on 
20  295 


THE    FIGHTING    CHANCE 

Plank,  which  said  very  plainly,  "  I'm  up  to  one  of  my 
irrepressible  jokes  again!  "  he  held  up  a  smooth,  white, 
and  over-manicured  forefinger: 

"  I  was  in  Tiffany's  yesterday,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
saw  a  young  man  in  there  who  didn't  see  me,  and  I 
peeped  over  his  shoulder,  and  what  do  you  think  he  was 
doing?" 

She  lifted  her  eyes  a  little  wearily: 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said. 

"  I  do,"  he  chuckled.  "  He  was  choosing  a  collar  of 
blue  diamonds  and  aqua  marines ! — Te-he ! — probably  to 
wear  himself ! — Te-he !  Or  perhaps  he  was  going  to  be 
married ! — He-he-he ! — next  winter — ahem ! — next  No 
vember — Ha-ha  !  /  don't  know,  I'm  sure,  what  he  meant 
to  do  with  that  collar.  I  only " 

Something  in  Sylvia's  eyes  stopped  him,  and,  fol 
lowing  their  direction,  he  turned  around  to  find  Quar- 
rier  standing  at  his  elbow,  icy  and  expressionless. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  aged  jester,  a  little  disconcerted, 
"  I'm  caught  talking  out  in  church,  I  see !  It  was  only 
a  harmless  little  fun,  Howard." 

"  Do  you  mean  you  saw  me?  "  asked  Quarrier,  pale 
as  a  sheet.  "  You  are  in  error.  I  have  not  been  in  Tif 
fany's  in  months." 

Belwether,  crestfallen  under  the  white  menace  of 
Quarrier's  face,  nodded,  and  essayed  a  chuckle  without 
success. 

Sylvia,  at  first  listless  and  uninterested,  looked  in 
quiringly  from  the  major  to  Quarrier,  surprised  at  the 
suppressed  feeling  exhibited  over  so  trivial  a  gaucherie. 
If  Quarrier  had  chosen  a  collar  like  Agatha's  for  her, 
what  of  it?  But  as  he  had  not,  on  his  own  statement, 
what  did  it  matter?  Why  should  he  look  that  way  at 
the  foolish  major,  to  whose  garrulous  gossip  he  was 

296 


CONFESSIONS 


accustomed,  and  whose  inability  to  refrain  from  prying 
was  notorious  enough. 

Turning  disdainfully,  she  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Plank's  shocked  and  altered  face.  It  relapsed  instantly 
into  the  usual  inert  expression;  and  a  queer,  uncom 
fortable  perplexity  began  to  invade  her.  What  had 
happened  to  stir  up  these  three  men?  Of  what  import 
ance  was  an  indiscretion  of  an  old  gentleman  whose 
fatuous  vanity  and  consequent  blunders  everybody  was 
familiar  with?  And,  after  all,  Howard  had  not  bought 
anything  at  Tiffany's;  he  said  so  himself.  .  .  .  But 
it  was  evident  that  Agatha  had  chanced  on  the  collar 
that  Belwether  thought  he  saw  somebody  else  exam 
ining. 

She  turned,  and  looked  at  the  dead-white  neck  of 
the  girl.  The  collar  was  wonderful — a  miracle  of  pale 
fire.  And  Sylvia,  musing,  let  her  thoughts  run  on, 
dreamy  eyes  brooding.  She  was  glad  that  Agatha's 
means  permitted  her  now  to  have  such  things.  It  had 
been  understood,  for  some  years,  that  the  Caithness 
fortune  was  in  rather  an  alarming  condition.  Howard 
had  been  able  recently  to  do  a  favour  or  two  for  old 
Peter  Caithness.  She  had  heard  the  major  bragging 
about  it.  Evidently  Mr.  Caithness  must  have  improved 
the  chance,  if  he  was  able  to  present  such  gems  to 
his  daughter.  And  now  somebody  would  marry  her; 
perhaps  Captain  Voucher ;  perhaps  even  Alderdene ;  per 
haps,  as  rumour  had  it  now  and  then,  Plank  might 
venture  into  the  arena.  .  .  .  Poor  Plank!  More  of  a 
man  than  people  understood.  She  understood.  She 

And  her  thoughts  swung  back  like  the  returning  tide 
to  Siward,  and  her  heart  began  heavily  again,  and  the 
slightly  faint  sensation  returned.  She  passed  her  un 
gloved,  unsteady  fingers  across  her  eyelids  and  fore- 

297 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

head,  looking  up  and  around.  The  major  and  Howard 
had  disappeared ;  Plank,  beside  her,  sat  staring  stupidly 
into  his  empty  wine-glass. 

"  Isn't  Mrs.  Ferrall  coming?  "  she  said  wearily. 

Plank  gathered  his  cumbersome  bulk  and  stood  up, 
trying  to  see  through  the  entrance  into  the  ball-room. 
After  a  moment  he  said :  "  They're  in  there,  talking  to 
Marion.  It's  a  good  chance  to  make  our  adieux." 

As  they  passed  out  of  the  supper-room  Sylvia  paused 
behind  Agatha's  chair  and  bent  over  her.  "  The  collar 
is  beautiful,"  she  said,  "  and  so  are  you,  Agatha  " ;  and 
with  a  little  impulsive  caress  for  the  jewels  she  passed 
on,  unconscious  of  the  delicate  flush  that  spread  from 
Agatha's  shoulders  to  her  hair.  And  Agatha,  turning, 
encountered  only  the  stupid  gaze  of  Plank,  moving  pon 
derously  past  on  Sylvia's  heels. 

"  If  you'll  find  Leila,  I'm  ready  at  any  time,"  she 
said  carelessly,  and  resumed  her  tete-a-tete  with  Vou 
cher,  who  had  plainly  been  annoyed  at  the  interruption. 

Plank  went  on,  a  new  trouble  dawning  on  his  thick 
ening  mental  horizon.  He  had  completely  forgotten 
Leila.  Even  with  all  the  demands  made  upon  him; 
even  with  all  the  time  he  had  given  to  those  whose  use 
of  him  he  understood,  how  could  he  have  forgotten  Leila 
and  the  recent  scene  between  them,  and  the  new  attitude 
and  new  relations  with  her  that  he  must  so  carefully 
consider  and  ponder  over  before  he  presented  himself 
at  the  house  of  Mortimer  again ! 

Ferrall  and  his  wife  and  Sylvia  were  making  their 
adieux  to  Marion  and  her  mother  when  he  came  up; 
and  he,  too,  took  that  opportunity. 

Later,  on  his  quest  for  Leila,  Sylvia,  passing 
through  the  great  hall,  shrouded  in  silk  and  ermine, 
turned  to  offer  him  her  hand,  saying  in  a  low  voice: 

298 


CONFESSIONS 


"  I  am  at  home  to  you;  do  you  understand?     Always," 
she  added  nervously. 

He  looked  after  her  with  an  unconscious  sigh,  un 
aware  that  anything  in  himself  had  claimed  her  respect. 
And  after  a  moment  he  swung  on  his  broad  heels  to 
continue  his  search  for  Mrs.  Mortimer. 


CHAPTER    X 

THE    SEAMY    SIDE 

ABOUT  four  o'clock  on  the  following  afternoon  Mrs. 
Mortimer's  maid,  who  had  almost  finished  drying  and 
dressing  her  mistress'  hair,  was  called  to  the  door  by 
a  persistent  knocking,  which  at  first  she  had  been  bidden 
to  disregard. 

It  was  Mortimer's  man,  desiring  to  know  whether 
Mrs.  Mortimer  could  receive  Mr.  Mortimer  at  once  on 
matters  of  importance. 

"  No,"  said  Leila  petulantly.  "  Tell  Mullins  to  say 
that  I  can  not  see  anybody,"  and  catching  a  glimpse  of 
the  shadowy  Mullins  dodging  about  the  dusky  corridor : 
"What  is  the  matter?  Is  Mr.  Mortimer  ill?" 

But  Mullins  could  not  say  what  the  matter  might 
be,  and  he  went  away,  only  to  return  in  a  few  moments 
bearing  a  scratchy  note  from  his  master,  badly  blotted 
and  still  wet;  and  Leila,  with  a  shrug  of  resignation, 
took  the  blotched  scrawl  daintily  between  thumb  and 
forefinger  and  unfolded  it.  Behind  her,  the  maid, 
twisting  up  the  masses  of  dark,  fragrant  hair,  read  the 
note  very  easily  over  her  mistress'  shoulder.  It  ran, 
without  preliminaries: 

"  I'm  going  to  talk  to  you,  whether  you  like  it  or  not.  Do 
you  understand  that?  If  you  want  to  know  what's  the  matter 
with  me  you'll  find  out  fast  enough.  Fire  that  French  girl  out 
before  I  arrive."  «, 

She    closed    the    note    thoughtfully,    folding    and 
300 


THE   SEAMY  SIDE 


double-folding  it  into  a  thick  wad.  The  ink  had  come 
off,  discolouring  her  finger-tips ;  she  dropped  the  soiled 
paper  on  the  floor,  and  held  out  her  hands,  plump  fin 
gers  spread.  And  when  the  maid  had  finished  removing 
the  stains  and  had  repolished  the  pretty  hands,  her 
mistress  sipped  her  chocolate  thoughtfully,  nibbled  a 
bit  of  dry  toast,  then  motioned  the  maid  to  take  the 
tray  and  her  departure,  leaving  her  the  cup. 

A  few  minutes  later  Mortimer  came  in,  stood  a  mo 
ment  blinking  around  the  room,  then  dropped  into  a 
seat,  sullen,  inert,  the  folds  of  his  chin  crowded  out  on 
his  collar,  his  heavy  abdomen  cradled  on  his  short,  thick 
legs.  He  had  been  freshly  shaved;  linen  and  clothing 
were  spotless,  yet  the  man  looked  unclean. 

Save  for  the  network  of  purple  veins  in  his  face, 
there  was  no  colour  there,  none  in  his  lips;  even  his 
flabby  hands  were  the  hue  of  clay. 

"  Are  you  ill?  "  asked  his  wife  coolly. 

"  No,  not  very.  I've  got  the  jumps.  What's  that? 
Tea?  Ugh!  it's  chocolate.  Push  it  out  of  sight,  will 
you?  I  can  smell  it." 

Leila  set  the  delicate  cup  on  a  table  behind  her. 

"  What  time  did  you  return  this  morning?  "  she 
asked,  stifling  a  yawn. 

"  I  don't  know ;  about  five  or  six.  How  the  devil 
should  I  know  what  time  I  came  in?  " 

Sitting  there  before  the  mirror  of  her  dresser  she 
stole  a  second  glance  at  his  marred  features  in  the  glass. 
The  loose  mouth,  the  smeared  eyes,  the  palsy-like  trem 
ors  that  twitched  the  hands  where  they  tightened  on 
the  arms  of  his  chair,  became  repulsive  to  the  verge  of 
fascination.  She  tried  to  look  away,  but  could  not. 

"  You  had  better  see  Dr.  Grisby,"  she  managed  to 
say. 

301 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

"  I'd  better  see  you;  that's  what  I'd  better  do,"  he 
retorted  thickly.  "  You'll  do  all  the  doctoring  I  want. 
And  I  want  it,  all  right." 

"Very  well.     What  is  it?" 

He  passed  his  swollen  hand  across  his  forehead. 

"What  is  it?"  he  repeated.  "It's  the  limit,  this 
time,  if  you  want  to  know.  I'm  all  in." 

"  Roulette  ?  "  raising  her  eyebrows  without  interest. 

"  Yes,  roulette,  too.  Everything !  They  got  me  up 
stairs  at  Burbank's.  The  game's  crooked!  Every  box, 
every  case,  every  wheel,  every  pack  is  crooked !  crooked ! 
crooked,  by  God !  "  he  burst  out  in  a  fever,  struggling 
to  sit  upright,  his  hands  always  tightening  on  the  arms 
of  the  chair.  "  It's  nothing  but  a  creeping  joint,  run 
by  a  bunch  of  hand-shakers !  I — I'll " 

Stuttering,  choking,  stammering  imprecations,  his 
hoarse  clamour  died  away  after  a  while.  She  sat  there, 
head  bent,  silent,  impassive,  acquiescent  under  the  physi 
cal  and  mental  strain  to  which  she  had  never  become 
thoroughly  hardened.  How  many  such  scenes  had  she 
witnessed!  She  could  not  count  them.  They  differed 
very  little  in  detail,  and  not  at  all  in  their  ultimate 
object,  which  was  to  get  what  money  she  had.  This 
was  his  method  of  reimbursing  himself  for  his  losses. 

He  made  an  end  to  his  outburst  after  a  while.  Only 
his  dreadful  fat  breathing  now  filled  the  silence;  and 
supposing  he  had  finished,  she  found  her  voice  with  an 
effort: 

"  I  am  sorry.  It  comes  at  a  bad  time,  as  you 
know " 

"  A  bad  time !  "  he  broke  out  violently.  "  How  can 
it  come  at  any  other  sort  of  time?  With  us,  all  times 
are  bad.  If  this  is  worse  than  the  average  it  can't  be 
helped.  We  are  in  it  for  keeps  this  time !  " 

302 


THE   SEAMY   SIDE 


"  We  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we!  "  he  repeated ;  but  his  face  had  grown 
ghastly,  and  his  uncertain  eyes  were  fastened  on  hep's 
in  the  mirror. 

"  What  do  you  mean — exactly  ?  "  she  asked,  turning 
from  the  dresser  to  confront  him. 

He  made  no  effort  to  answer;  an  expression  of  dull 
fright  was  growing  on  his  visage,  as  though  for  the 
first  time  he  had  begun  to  realise  what  had  happened. 

She  saw  it,  and  her  heart  quickened,  but  she  spoke 
disdainfully :  "  Well,  I  am  ready  to  listen — as  usual. 
How  much  do  you  want?  " 

He  made  no  sign ;  his  lower  lip  hung  loose ;  his  eyes 
blinked  at  her. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  repeated.  "  What  have  you  been 
doing?  How  much  have  you  lost?  You  can't  have  lost 
very  much ;  we  hadn't  much  to  lose.  If  you  have  given 
your  note  to  any  of  those  gamblers,  it  is  a  shame — a 
shame !  Leroy,  look  at  me !  You  promised  me,  on  your 
honour,  never  to  do  that  again.  Have  you  lied,  after 
all  the  times  I  have  helped  you  out,  stripped  myself, 
denied  myself,  put  off  tradesmen,  faced  down  creditors? 
After  all  I  have  done,  do  you  dare  come  here  and  ask 
for  more — ask  for  what  I  have  not  got — with  not  one 
bill  settled,  not  one  servant  paid  since  December " 

"  Leila,  I— I've  got— to  tell  you " 

"  What?  "  she  demanded,  appalled  by  the  change  in 
his  face.  If  he  was  overdoing  it,  he  was  overdoing  it 
realistically  enough. 

"  I — I've  used  Plank's  cheque !  "  he  mumbled,  and 
moistened  his  lips  with  his  tongue. 

She  stared  back  at  him,  striving  to  comprehend. 
"Plank's!"  she  repeated  slowly,  "Plank's  cheque? 
What  cheque?  What  do  you  mean?  " 

303 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  The  one  he  gave  you  last  night.  I've  used  that. 
Now  you  know !  " 

"  The  one  he —  But  you  couldn't !  How  could  you? 
It  was  not  filled  in." 

"  I  filled  it." 

Her  dawning  horror  was  reacting  on  him,  as  it  al 
ways  did,  like  a  fierce  tonic;  and  his  own  courage  came 
back  in  a  sort  of  sullen  desperation. 

"  You  .  .  .  You  are  trying  to  frighten  me,  Leroy," 
she  stammered.  "  You  are  trying  to  make  me  do  some 
thing — give  you  what  you  want — force  me  to  give  you 
what  you  want!  You  can't  frighten  me.  The  cheque 
was  made  out  to  me — to  my  order.  How  could  you  have 
used  it,  if  I  had  not  indorsed  it?  " 

"  I  indorsed  it.  Do  you  understand  that !  "  he  said 
savagely. 

"  No,  I  don't ;  because,  if  you  did,  it's  forgery." 

"  I  don't  give  a  damn  what  you  think  it  is !  "  he 
broke  in  fiercely.  "  All  I'm  worried  over  is  what  Plank 
will  think.  I  didn't  mean  to  do  it;  I  didn't  dream  of 
doing  it;  but  when  Burbank  cleaned  me  up  I  fished 
about,  and  that  cursed  cheque  came  tumbling  out !  " 

In  the  rising  excitement  of  self-defence  the  colour 
was  coming  back  into  his  battered  face;  he  sat  up 
straighter  in  his  chair,  and,  grasping  the  upholstered 
arms,  leaned  forward,  speaking  more  distinctly  and  with 
increasing  vigour  and  anger: 

"  When  I  saw  that  cheque  in  my  hands  I  thought 
I'd  use  it  temporarily — merely  as  moral  collateral  to 
flash  at  Burbank — something  to  back  my  I.  O.  U.'s. 
So  I  filled  it  in." 

"  For  how  much?  "  she  asked,  not  daring  to  believe 
him ;  but  he  ignored  the  question  and  went  on :  "I  filled 

it  and  indorsed  it,  and " 

304 


THE   SEAMY  SIDE 


"  How  could  you  indorse  it  ?  "  she  interrupted  coolly, 
now  unconvinced  again  and  suspicious. 

"  I'll  tell  you  if  you'll  stop  that  fool  tongue  a  mo 
ment.  The  cheque  was  made  to  '  L.  Mortimer,'  wasn't 
it?  So  I  wrote  '  L.  Mortimer'  on  the  back.  Now  do 
you  know?  If  you  are  L.  Mortimer,  so  am  I.  Leila 
begins  with  L;  so  does  Leroy,  doesn't  it?  I  didn't 
imitate  your  two-words-to-a-page  autograph.  I  put  my 
own  fist  to  a  cheque  made  out  to  one  L.  Mortimer;  and 
I  don't  care  what  you  think  about  it  as  long  as  Plank 
can  stand  it.  Now  put  up  your  nose  and  howl,  if  you 
like." 

But  under  her  sudden  pallor  he  was  taking  fright 
again,  and  he  began  to  bolster  up  his  courage  with 
bluster  and  noise,  as  usual: 

"  Howl  all  you  like! "  he  jeered.  "  It  won't  alter 
matters  or  square  accounts  with  Plank.  What  are  you 
staring  at?  Do  you  suppose  I'm  not  sorry?  Do  you 
fancy  I  don't  know  what  a  fool  I've  been?  What  are 
you  turning  white  for?  What  in  hell " 

"  How  much  have  you — "  She  choked,  then,  reso 
lutely  :  "  How  much  have  you — taken  ?  " 

"  Taken !  "  he  broke  out,  with  an  oath.  "  What  do 
you  mean?  I've  borrowed  about  twenty  thousand  dol 
lars.  Now  yelp!  Eh?  What? — no  yelps?  Probably 
some  weeps,  then.  Turn  'em  on  and  run  dry ;  I'll  wait." 
And  he  managed  to  cross  one  bulky  leg  over  the  other 
and  lean  back,  affecting  resignation,  while  Leila,  bolt 
upright  in  her  low  chair,  every  curved  outline  rigid 
under  the  flowing,  silken  wrap,  stared  at  him  as  though 
stunned. 

"Well,  we're  good  for  it,  aren't  we?"  he  said 
threateningly.  "  If  he's  going  to  turn  ugly  about  it, 
here's  the  house." 

305 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

"My— house?" 

"  Yes,  your  house !  I  suppose  you'd  rather  raise 
something  on  the  house  than  have  the  thing  come  out 
in  the  papers." 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "  she  asked,  staring  into  his 
bloodshot  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  do.     I'm  damn  sure  of  it! " 

"  You  are  wrong." 

"  You  mean  that  you  are  not  inclined  to  stand  by 
me?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Yes,  I  mean  that." 

"  You  don't  intend  to  help  me  out  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  intend  to — not  this  time." 

He  began  to  show  his  big  teeth,  and  that  nervous 
snickering  "  tick  "  twitched  his  upper  lip. 

"  How  about  the  courts  ?  "  he  sneered.  "  Do  you 
want  to  figure  in  them  with  Plank?  " 

"  I  don't  want  to,"  she  said  steadily,  "  but  you  can 
not  frighten  me  any  more  by  that  threat." 

"  Oh !  Can't  frighten  you !  Perhaps  you  think 
you'll  marry  Plank  when  I  get  a  decree?  Do  you? 
Well,  you  won't  for  several  reasons;  first,  because  I'll 
name  other  corespondents  and  that  will  make  Plank 
sick;  second,  because  Plank  wants  to  marry  somebody 
else  and  I'm  able  to  assist  him.  So  where  do  you  come 
out  in  the  shuffle?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  under  her  breath,  and 
rested  her  head  against  the  back  of  the  chair,  as  though 
suddenly  tired. 

"  Well,  I  know.  You'll  come  out  smirched,  and  you 
know  it,"  said  Mortimer,  gazing  intently  at  her.  "  Look 
here,  Leila:  I  didn't  come  here  to  threaten  you.  I'm 
no  black-mailer;  I'm  no  criminal.  I'm  simply  a  decent 
sort  of  a  man,  who  is  pretty  badly  scared  over  what  he's 

306 


THE   SEAMY   SIDE 


done  in  a  moment  of  temptation.  You  know  I  had  no 
thought  of  anything  except  to  borrow  enough  on  my 
I.  O.  U.'s  to  make  a  killing  at  Burbank's.  I  had  to 
show  them  something  big,  so  I  filled  in  that  cheque,  not 
meaning  to  use  it ;  and  before  I  knew  it  I'd  indorsed  it, 
and  was  plunging  against  it.  Then  they  stacked  every 
thing  on  me — by  God,  they  did !  and  if  I  had  not  been  in 
the  condition  I  was  in  I'd  have  stopped  payment.  But 
it  was  too  late  when  I  realised  what  I  was  against. 
Leila,  you  know  I'm  not  a  bad  man  at  heart.  Can't  you 
help  a  fellow?  " 

His  manner,  completely  changed,  had  become  the  re 
sentful  and  fretful  appeal  of  the  victim  of  plot  and 
circumstance.  All  the  savage  brutality  had  been  elimi 
nated  ;  the  sneer,  the  truculent  attempts  to  browbeat,  the 
pitiful  swagger,  the  cynical  justification,  all  were  gone. 
It  was  really  the  man  himself  now,  normally  scared  and 
repentant;  the  frightened,  overfed  pensioner  on  his 
wife's  bounty;  not  the  human  beast  maddened  by 
fear  and  dissipation,  half  stunned,  half  panic-stricken, 
driven  by  sheer  terror  into  a  role  which  even  he  shrank 
from — had  shrunk  from  all  these  years.  For,  leech  and 
parasite  that  he  was,  Mortimer,  however  much  the  dirty 
acquisition  of  money  might  tempt  him  in  theory,  had 
not  yet  brought  himself  to  the  point  of  attempting  the 
practice,  even  when  in  sorest  straits  and  bitterest  need. 
He  didn't  want  to  do  it ;  he  wished  to  get  along  without 
it,  partly  because  of  native  inertia  and  an  aversion  to 
the  mental  nimbleness  that  he  would  be  required  to  show 
as  a  law-breaker,  partly  because  the  word  "  black-mail  " 
stood  for  what  he  did  not  dare  suggest  that  he  had  come 
to,  even  to  himself.  His  distaste  was  genuine;  there 
were  certain  things  which  he  didn't  want  to  commit,  and 
extortion  was  one  of  them.  He  could,  at  a  pinch,  lie 

307 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

to  his  wife,  or  try  to  scare  her  into  giving  him  money ; 
he  could,  when  necessary,  "  borrow  "  from  such  men  as 
Plank;  but  he  had  never  cheated  at  cards,  and  he  had 
never  attempted  to  black-mail  anybody  except  his  wife 
— which,  of  course,  was  purely  a  family  matter,  and 
concerned  nobody  else. 

Now  he  was  attempting  it  again,  with  more  sin 
cerity,  energy,  and  determination  than  he  ever  before 
had  been  forced  to  display.  Even  in  his  most  profane 
violence  the  rage  and  panic  were  only  partly  real.  He 
was,  it  is  true,  genuinely  scared,  and  horribly  shaken 
physically,  but  he  had  counted  on  violence,  and  he 
stimulated  his  own  emotions  and  made  them  serve  him, 
knowing  all  the  while  that  in  the  reaction  his  ends 
would  be  accomplished,  as  usual.  This  policy  of  alter 
nately  frightening,  dragooning,  and  supplicating  Leila 
had  carried  him  so  far;  and  though  it  was  true  that 
this  was  a  more  serious  situation  than  he  had  ever  yet 
faced,  he  was  convinced  that  his  wife  would  pull  him 
out  somehow ;  and  how  that  was  to  be  accomplished  he 
did  not  very  much  care,  as  long  as  he  was  pulled  out 
safely. 

"  What  this  household  requires,"  he  said,  "  is  econ 
omy."  He  spread  his  legs,  denting  the  Aubusson  carpet 
with  his  boot-heels,  and  glanced  askance  at  his  wife. 
"  Economy,"  he  repeated,  furtively  wetting  his  lips 
with  a  heavily  coated  tongue ;  "  that's  the  true  solution ; 
economical  administration  in  domestic  matters.  Re 
trenchment,  Leila!  retrenchment!  Fewer  folderols. 
I've  a  notion  to  give  up  that  farm,  and  stop  trying  to 
breed  those  damfool  sheep.  They  cost  a  thousand  apiece, 
and  do  you  know  what  I  got  for  those  six  I  sent  to 
Westbury?  Just  twelve  hundred  dollars  from  Fleet- 
wood — the  bargaining  shopkeeper!  Twelve  hundred! 

308 


THE   SEAMY   SIDE 


Think  of  that!     And  along  comes  Granby  and  sells  a 
single  ram  for  six  thousand  plunks !  " 

Leila's  head  was  lowered.  He  could  not  see  her  ex 
pression,  but  he  had  always  been  confident  of  his  ability 
to  talk  himself  out  of  trouble,  so  he  rambled  on  in 
pretence  of  camaraderie,  currying  favour,  as  he  believed, 
ingratiating  himself  with  the  coarse  bluntness  that 
served  him  among  some  men,  even  among  some  women. 

"  We'll  fix  it  somehow,"  he  said  reassuringly ;  "  don't 
you  worry,  Leila.  I've  confidence  in  you,  little  girl! 
You've  got  me  out  of  sticky  messes  before,  eh?  Well, 
we've  weathered  a  few,  haven't  we?  " 

Even  the  horrible  parody  on  wedded  loyalty  left  her 
silent,  unmoved,  dark  eyes  brooding;  and  he  began  to 
grow  a  little  restless  and  anxious  as  his  jocularity  in 
creased  without  a  movement  in  either  response  or  aver 
sion  from  his  wife. 

"  You  needn't  be  scared,  if  I'm  not,"  he  said  re 
proachfully.  "  The  house  is  worth  two  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand,  and  there's  only  fifty  on  it  now.  If  that 
fat,  Dutch  skinflint,  Plank,  shows  his  tusks,  we  can  clap 
on  another  fifty."  And  as  she  made  no  sound  or  move 
ment  in  reply :  "  As  far  as  Plank  goes,  haven't  I  done 
enough  for  him  to  square  it?  What  have  we  ever  got 
out  of  him,  except  a  thousand  or  two  now  and  then 
when  the  cards  went  against  me?  If  I  took  it,  it  was 
practically  what  he  owes  me.  And  if  he  thinks  it's  too 
much — look  here,  Leila  1  I've  a  trick  up  my  sleeve.  I 
can  make  good  any  time  I  wish  to.  I'm  in  a  position 
to  marry  that  man  to  the  girl  he's  mad  about — stark, 
raving  mad." 

Mrs.  Mortimer  slowly  raised  her  head  and  looked  at 
her  husband. 

"  Leroy,  are  you  mad?" 
309 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

"  I !  Not  much !  "  he  exclaimed  gleefully.  "  I  can 
make  him  the  husband  of  the  most-run-after  girl  in 
New  York — if  I  want  to.  And  at  the  same  time  I  can 
puncture  the  most  arrogant,  the  most  cold-blooded,  sel 
fish,  purse-proud,  inflated  nincompoop  that  ever  sat  at 
the  head  of  a  director's  table.  O-ho !  Now  you're  star 
ing,  Leila.  I  can  do  it;  I  can  make  good.  What  are 
you  worrying  about?  Why,  I've  got  a  hundred  ways 
to  square  that  cheque,  and  each  separate  way  is  a  win 
ner." 

He  rose,  shook  out  the  creases  in  his  trousers,  and 
adjusted  the  squat,  gold  fob  which  ornamented  his  pro 
truding  waistcoat. 

"  So  you'll  fix  it,  won't  you,  Leila?  "  he  said,  ap 
parently  oblivious  that  he  had  expressed  himself  as  able 
to  adjust  the  matter  in  one  hundred  equally  edifying 
and  satisfactory  manners. 

She  did  not  answer.  He  lingered  a  moment  at  the 
door,  looking  back  with  an  ingratiating  leer;  but  she 
paid  him  no  attention,  and  he  took  himself  off,  confident 
that  her  sulkiness  could  not  result  in  anything  unpleas 
ant  to  anybody  except  herself. 

Nor  did  it,  as  far  as  he  could  see.  The  days  brought 
no  noticeable  change  in  his  wife's  demeanour  toward 
him.  Plank,  when  he  met  him,  was  civil  enough,  though 
it  did  occur  to  Mortimer  that  he  saw  very  little  of  Plank 
in  these  days. 

"Ungrateful  beggar!"  he  thought  bitterly;  "he's 
toadying  to  Belwether  now.  I  can't  do  anything  more 
for  him,  so  I  don't  interest  him." 

And  for  a  while  he  wore  either  a  truculent,  aggrieved 
air  in  Plank's  presence,  or  the  meeker  demeanour  of  a 
martyr,  sentimentally  misunderstood,  but  patient  under 
the  affliction. 

310 


THE   SEAMY   SIDE 


Then  there  came  a  time  when  he  needed  money. 
During  the  few  days  he  spent  circling  tentatively  and 
apprehensively  around  his  wife  he  learned  enough  to 
know  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  had  from  her  at  pres 
ent.  No  doubt  the  money  she  raised  to  placate  Plank — 
if  she  had  placated  him  in  that  fashion — was  a  strain 
on  her  resources,  whatever  those  resources  were. 

One  thing  was  certain:  Plank  had  not  remained 
very  long  in  ignorance  of  the  cheque  drawn  against  his 
balance,  if  indeed,  as  Mortimer  feared,  the  bank  itself 
had  not  communicated  with  Plank  as  soon  as  the  cheque 
was  presented  for  payment.  Therefore  Plank  must  have 
been  placated  by  Leila ;  how,  Mortimer  was  satisfied  not 
to  know. 

"  Some  of  these  days,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I'll  catch 
her  tripping,  and  then  there'll  be  a  decent  division  of 
property,  or — there'll  be  a  divorce."  But,  as  usual, 
Mortimer  found  such  practices  more  attractive  in  theory 
than  in  execution,  and  he  was  really  quite  contented  to 
go  on  as  things  were  going,  if  somebody  would  see  that 
he  had  some  money  occasionally. 

One  of  these  occasions  when  he  needed  it  was  ap 
proaching.  He  had  made  a  "  killing  "  at  Desmond's, 
and  had  used  the  money  to  stop  up  the  more  threaten 
ing  gaps  in  the  tottering  financial  fabric  known  as  his 
"  personal  accounts."  The  fabric  would  hold  for  a 
while,  but  meantime  he  needed  money  to  go  on  with. 
And  Leila  evidently  had  none.  He  tried  everybody  ex 
cept  Plank.  He  had  scarcely  the  impudence  to  go  to 
Plank  just  yet;  but  when,  completing  the  vicious  circle, 
he  found  his  borrowing  capacity  exhausted,  and  him 
self  once  more  face  to  face  with  the  only  hope,  Plank, 
he  sat  down  to  consider  seriously  the  possibility  of  the 
matter. 

21  311 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Of  course  Plank  owed  him  more  than  he  could 
ever  pay — the  ungrateful  parvenu! — but  what  Plank 
had  thought  of  that  cheque  transaction  he  had  never 
been  able  to  discover. 

Somehow  or  other  he  must  put  Plank  under  fresh 
obligations;  and  that  might  have  been  possible  had  not 
Leila  invaded  the  ground,  leaving  nothing,  now  that 
Plank  was  secure  in  club  life. 

Of  course  the  first  thing  that  presented  itself  to 
Mortimer's  consideration  was  the  engineering  of  Plank's 
matrimonial  ambitions.  Clearly  the  man  had  not 
changed.  He  was  always  at  Sylvia's  heels ;  he  was  seen 
with  her  in  public;  he  went  to  the  Belwether  house  a 
great  deal.  No  possible  doubt  but  that  he  was  as  in 
fatuated  as  ever.  And  Quarrier  was  going  to  marry 
her  next  November — that  is,  if  he,  Mortimer,  chose  to 
keep  silent  about  a  certain  midnight  episode  at  Shot- 
over. 

It  was  his  inclination,  except  in  theory,  to  keep  si 
lent,  partly  because  of  his  native  inertia  and  unwilling 
ness  to  go  to  the  physical  and  intellectual  exertion  of 
being  a  rascal,  partly  because  he  didn't  really  want  to 
be  a  rascal  of  that  sort. 

Like  a  man  with  premonitions  of  toothache,  who 
walks  down  to  the  dentist's  just  to  see  what  the  number 
of  the  house  looks  like,  and  then  walks  around  the  block 
to  think  it  over,  so  Mortimer,  suffering  from  lack  of 
money,  walked  round  and  round  the  central  idea,  un 
able  to  bring  himself  to  the  point. 

Several  times  he  called  up  Quarrier  on  the  'phone 
and  made  appointments  to  lunch  with  him;  but  these 
meetings  never  resulted  in  anything  except  luncheons 
which  Mortimer  paid  for,  and  matters  were  becoming  des 
perate. 


THE   SEAMY   SIDE 


So  one  day,  after  having  lunched  too  freely,  he  sat 
down  and  wrote  Plank  the  following  note : 

MY  DEAR  BEVERLY  :  You  will  remember  that  I  once 
promised  you  my  aid  in  securing  what,  to  you,  is  the  dearest 
object  of  your  existence.  I  have  thought,  I  have  pondered, 
I  have  given  the  matter  deep  and,  I  may  add  without  irrev 
erence,  prayerful  consideration,  knowing  that  the  life's  happi 
ness  of  my  closest  friend  depended  on  my  judgment  and 
wisdom  and  intelligence  to  secure  for  him  the  opportunity  to 
crown  his  life's  work  by  the  acquisition  of  the  brightest  jewel 
in  the  diadem  of  old  Manhattan. 

"  By  George !  that's  wickedly  good,  though ! " 
chuckled  Mortimer,  refreshing  himself  with  his  old  stand 
by,  an  apple,  quartered,  and  soaked  in  very  old  port. 
So  he  sopped  his  apple  and  swallowed  it,  and  picked  up 
his  pen  again,  chary  of  overdoing  it. 

All  I  say  to  you  is,  be  ready  1  The  time  is  close  at  hand 
when  you  may  boldly  make  your  avowal.  But  be  ready ! 
All  depends  upon  the  psychological  moment.  An  instant 
too  soon,  an  instant  too  late,  and  you  are  lost.  And  she  is 
lost  forever.  Remember !  Be  faithful ;  trust  in  me,  and 
wait.  And  the  instant  I  say,  t:  Speak  !  "  pour  out  your  soul, 
my  dear  friend,  and  be  certain  you  are  not  pouring  it  out  in 
vain.  L.  M. 

Writing  about  "  pouring  out "  made  him  thirsty,  so 
he  fortified  himself  several  times,  and  then,  sealing  the 
letter,  went  out  to  a  letter-box  and  stood  looking  at  it. 

"  If  I  mail  it  I'm  in  for  it,"  he  muttered.  After  a 
while  he  put  the  letter  in  his  pocket  and  walked  on. 

"  It  really  doesn't  commit  me  to  anything,"  he  re 
flected  at  last,  halting  before  another  letter-box.  And 
as  he  stood  there,  hesitating,  he  glanced  up  and  saw 
Quarrier  entering  the  Lenox  Club.  The  next  moment 
he  flung  up  the  metal  box  lid,  dropped  in  his  letter,  and 
followed  Quarrier  into  the  club. 

313 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Then  events  tumbled  forward  almost  without  a  push 
from  him.  Quarrier  was  alone  in  a  window  corner, 
drinking  vichy  and  milk  and  glancing  over  the  after 
noon  papers.  He  saw  Mortimer,  and  invited  him  to 
join  him;  and  Mortimer,  being  thirsty,  took  champagne. 

"  I've  been  trying  a  new  coach,"  said  Quarrier,  in 
his  colourless  and  rather  agreeable  voice;  and  he  went 
on  leisurely  explaining  the  points  of  the  new  mail-coach 
which  had  been  built  in  Paris  after  plans  of  his  own, 
while  Mortimer  gulped  glass  after  glass  of  chilled  wine, 
which  seemed  only  to  make  him  thirstier.  Meantime  he 
listened,  really  interested,  except  that  his  fleshy  head 
was  too  full  of  alcohol  and  his  own  project  to  con 
tain  additional  statistics  concerning  coaching.  Besides, 
Quarrier,  who  had  never  been  over-cordial  to  him,  was 
more  so  now — enough  for  Mortimer  to  venture  on  a  few 
tentative  suggestions  of  a  financial  nature ;  and  though, 
as  usual,  Quarrier  was  not  responsive,  he  did  not,  as 
usual,  get  up  and  go  away. 

A  vague  hope  stirred  Mortimer  that  it  might  not 
be  beyond  his  persuasive  tongue  to  make  this  chilly,  ret 
icent  young  man  into  a  friend  some  day — a  helpful 
friend.  For  Mortimer  all  his  life  had  trusted  to  his 
tongue;  and  though  poorly  enough  repaid,  the  few  lin 
gual  victories  remained  in  his  memory,  along  with  an 
inexhaustible  vanity  and  hope;  while  his  countless 
defeats  and  the  many  occasions  on  which  his  tongue 
had  played  him  false  were  all  forgotten.  Besides,  he 
had  been  drinking  more  heavily  all  day  than  was  his 
custom. 

So  Quarrier  talked,  sparingly,  about  his  new  coach, 
about  Billy  Fleetwood's  renowned  string  of  hunters, 
about  Ashley  Spencer's  new  stable  and  his  chances  at 
Saratoga  with  Roy-a-neh,  for  which  he  had  paid  a  fabu- 

314 


THE   SEAMY   SIDE 


lous  sum — the  sum  and  the  story  probably  equally 
fabulous. 

Mortimer's  head  was  swimming  with  ideas ;  he  was 
also  talking  a  great  deal,  much  more  than  he  had  in 
tended;  he  was  saying  things  he  had  not  exactly  in 
tended  to  say,  either,  in  just  that  way.  He  realised  it, 
but  he  went  on,  unable  to  stop  his  own  tongue,  the  noise 
of  which  intoxicated  him. 

Once  or  twice  he  thought  Quarrier  looked  at  him 
rather  strangely ;  but  he  would  show  Quarrier  that  he 
was  nobody's  fool;  he'd  show  Quarrier  that  he  was  a 
friend,  a  good,  staunch  friend;  and  that  Quarrier  had 
long,  long  undervalued  him.  Waves  of  sentiment  spread 
through  and  through  him;  his  affection  for  Quarrier 
dampened  his  eyes ;  and  still  he  blabbed  on  and  on,  gaz 
ing  with  brimming  eyes  upon  Quarrier,  who  sat  back 
silent  and  attentive  as  Mortimer  circled  and  blundered 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  crucial  point  of  his  destination. 

Midway  in  one  of  his  linguistic  ellipses  Quarrier 
leaned  forward  and  caught  his  arm  in  a  grip  of  steel. 
Another  man  had  entered  the  room.  Mortimer,  made 
partly  conscious  by  the  pain  of  Quarrier's  vise-like  grip, 
was  sober  enough  to  recognise  the  impropriety  of  his 
continuing  aloud  the  veiled  story  he  had  been  construct 
ing  with  what  he  supposed  to  be  a  cunning  as  matchless 
as  it  was  impenetrable. 

Later  he  found  himself  up-stairs  in  a  private  card- 
room,  facing  Quarrier  across  a  table,  and  still  talking 
and  quenching  his  increasing  thirst.  He  knew  now  what 
he  was  telling  Quarrier;  he  was  unveiling  the  parable; 
he  was  stripping  metaphor  from  a  carefully  precise 
story.  He  used  Siward's  name  presently;  presently  he 
used  Sylvia's  name.  A  moment  later — or  was  it  an 
hour? — Quarrier  stopped  him,  coldly,  without  a  trace 

315 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

of  passion,  demanding  corroborative  detail.  And  Mor 
timer  gave  it,  wagging  his  head  and  one  fat  forefinger 
as  emphasis. 

"  You  saw  that?  "  repeated  Quarrier,  deadly  white 
of  a  sudden. 

"Yes;  an'  I " 

"At  three  in  the  morning?" 

"  Yes  ;  an'  I  want " 

"  You  saw  him  enter  her  room  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  an'  I  wan'  tersay  thish  to  you,  because  I'm 
your  f r'en'.  Don'  wan'  anny  fr'en's  mine  get  fooled  on 
women !  See  ?  Thash  how  I  feel.  I  respec'  the  sect ! 
See !  Women,  lovely  women !  See  ?  Respec'  sect ! 
Gimme  y'han',  buzzer — er — brother  Quar'er!  Your  m' 
fr'en' ;  I'm  your  f  r'en'.  I  know  how  it  is.  Gotter  wife 
m'own.  Rotten  one.  Stingy!  Takes  money  outter 
m'  pockets.  Dam  'stravagant.  Ruin  me!  ...  Say, 
old  boy,  what  about  dividend  due  'morrow  on  Orange 
County  Eclectic — mean  Erlextic — no  ! — mean  'Letric ! 
Damn! — Wasser  masser  tongue?  " 

Opening  his  fond  and  foggy  eyes,  and  finding  him 
self  alone  in  the  card-room,  he  began  to  cry ;  and  a  little 
later,  attempting  to  push  the  electric  button,  he  fell 
over  a  lounge  and  lay  there,  his  shirt-front  soiled  with 
wine,  one  fat  leg  trailing  to  the  floor;  not  the  ideal 
position  for  slumber,  perhaps,  but  what  difference  do 
attitudes  and  postures  and  poses  make  when  a  gentle 
man,  in  the  sacred  seclusion  of  his  own  club,  is  wooing 
the  drowsy  goddess  with  blasts  of  votive  music  through 
his  empurpled  nose? 

In  the  meantime,  however,  he  was  due  to  dine  at  the 
Belwether  house;  and  when  eight  o'clock  approached, 
and  he  had  not  returned  to  dress,  Leila  called  up  Sylvia 
Landis  on  the  telephone: 

316 


THE   SEAMY   SIDE 


"  My  dear,  Leroy  hasn't  returned,  and  I  suppose 
he's  forgotten  about  the  Bridge.  I  can  bring  Mr.  Plank, 
if  you  like." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Sylvia,  adding,  "  if  Mr.  Plank 
is  there,  may  I  speak  to  him  a  moment?  " 

So  Leila  rose,  setting  the  receiver  on  the  desk,  and 
Plank  came  in  from  the  library  and  settled  himself 
heavily  in  the  chair : 

"  Did  you  wish  to  speak  to  me,  Miss  Landis  ?  " 

"  Is  that  you,  Mr.  Plank  ?  Yes ;  will  you  dine 
with  us  at  eight?  Bridge  afterward,  if  you  don't 
mind." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  And,  Mr.  Plank,  you  had  a  note  from  me  this 
morning?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Please  disregard  it." 

"  If  you  wish." 

"  I  do.  It  is  not  worth  while."  And  as  Plank  made 
no  comment,  "  I  have  no  further  interest  in  the  matter. 
Do  you  understand?  " 

"  No,"  said  Plank  doggedly. 

"  I  have  nothing  more  to  say.  I  am  sorry.  We  dine 
at  eight,"  concluded  Sylvia  hurriedly. 

Plank  hung  up  the  receiver  and  sat  eyeing  it  for  a 
while  in  silence.  Then  his  jaw  began  to  harden  and  his 
under  lip  protruded,  and  he  folded  his  great  hands, 
resting  them  in  front  of  him  on  the  edge  of  the  desk, 
brooding  there,  with  eyes  narrowing  like  a  sleepy  giant 
at  prayer. 

When  Leila  entered,  in  her  evening  wraps,  she  found 
him  there,  so  immersed  in  reverie  that  he  failed  to  hear 
her;  and  she  stood  a  moment  at  the  doorway,  smiling 
to  herself,  thinking  how  pleasant  it  was  to  come  down 

317 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

ready  for  the  evening  and  find  him  there,  as  though 
he  belonged  where  he  sat,  and  was  part  of  the  familiar 
environment. 

Recently  she  had  grown  younger  in  a  smooth- 
skinned,  full-lipped  way — so  much  younger  that  it  was 
spoken  of.  Something  girlish  in  figure,  in  spontaneity, 
in  the  hesitation  of  her  smile,  in  the  lack  of  that  hard, 
brilliant  confidence  which  once  characterised  her,  had 
developed ;  as  though  she  were  beginning  her  debut 
again,  reverting  to  a  softness  and  charm  prematurely 
checked.  Truly,  her  youth's  discoloured  blossom,  forced 
by  the  pale  phantom  of  false  spring,  was  refolding  to 
a  bud  once  more ;  and  the  harsher  tints  of  the  inclement 
years  were  fading. 

"  Beverly,"  she  said,  "  I  am  ready." 

Plank  stood  up,  dazed  from  his  reverie,  and  walked 
toward  her.  His  white  tie  had  become  disarranged ;  she 
raised  her  hands,  halting  him,  and  pulled  it  into  shape 
for  him,  consciously  innocent  of  the  intimacy. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  know  how  pretty 
you  are  this  evening?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  was  very  happy  at  my  mirror.  Do  you 
know,  the  withered  years  seem  to  be  dropping  from  me 
like  leaves  from  an  autumn  sapling.  And  I  feel  young 
enough  to  say  so  poetically.  .  .  .  Did  Sylvia  try  to 
flirt  with  you  over  the  wire?  " 

"  Yes,  as  usual,"  he  said  drily,  descending  the  stairs 
beside  her. 

"And  really  you  don't  love  her  any  more?"  she 
queried. 

"  Scarcely."  His  voice  was  low  and  rather  disagree 
able,  and  she  looked  up. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  what  you  and  Sylvia  find  to  talk 
about  so  frequently,  if  you're  not  in  love." 

318 


THE   SEAMY   SIDE 


But  he  made  no  answer;  and  they  drove  away  to 
the  Belwether  house,  a  rather  wide,  old-style  mansion  of 
brown  stone,  with  a  stoop  dividing  its  ugly  fa£ade,  and 
a  series  of  unnecessary  glass  doors  blockading  the  ves 
tibule. 

A  drawing-room  and  a  reception-room  flanked  the 
marble-tiled  hall;  behind  these  the  dining-room  ran  the 
width  of  the  rear.  It  was  a  typical  gentlefolk's  house 
of  the  worst  period  of  Manhattan,  and  Major  Belwether 
belonged  in  it  as  fittingly  as  a  melodeon  belongs  in  a 
west-side  flat.  The  hall-way  was  made  for  such  a  man 
as  he  to  patter  through;  the  velvet-covered  stairs  were 
as  peculiarly  fitted  for  him  as  a  runway  is  for  a  rabbit ; 
the  suave  pink-and-white  drawing-room,  the  discreet, 
gray  reception-room,  the  soft,  fat  rugs,  the  intricacies 
of  banisters  and  alcoves  and  curtained  cubby -holes — all 
reflected  his  personality,  all  corroborated  the  ensemble. 
It  was  his  habitat,  his  distinctly,  from  the  pronounced 
but  meaningless  intricacy  of  the  architecture  to  the 
studied  but  unconvincing  tints,  like  a  man  who  sud 
denly  starts  to  speak,  but  checks  himself,  realising  he 
has  nothing  in  particular  to  say. 

There  were  half  a  dozen  people  there  lounging  in 
formally  between  the  living-room  on  the  second  floor 
and  Sylvia's  apartments  in  the  rear — the  residue  from 
a  luncheon  and  Bridge  party  given  that  afternoon  by 
Sylvia  to  a  score  or  so  of  card-mad  women.  A  few  of 
these  she  had  asked  to  remain  for  an  informal  dinner, 
and  a  desperate  game  later — the  sort  of  people  she  knew 
well  enough  to  lose  to  heavily  or  win  from  without 
remorse — Grace  Ferrall,  Marion  Page,  Agatha  Caith 
ness.  Trusting  to  the  telephone  that  morning,  she  had 
secured  the  Mortimers  and  Quarrier,  failing  three  men ; 
and  now  the  party,  with  Plank  as  Mortimer's  substitute, 

319 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

was    complete,   all  thorough    gamesters — sex   mattering 
nothing  in  the  preparation  for  such  a  seance. 

In  Sylvia's  boudoir  Grace  Ferrall  and  Agatha  Caith 
ness  sat  before  the  fire;  Sylvia,  at  the  mirror  of  her 
dresser,  was  correcting  the  pallor  incident  to  the  un 
broken  dissipation  of  a  brilliant  season ;  Marion,  with 
her  inevitable  cigarette,  wandered  between  Sylvia's  quar 
ters  and  the  library,  where  Quarrier  and  Major  Belwether 
were  sitting  in  low-voiced  confab. 

Leila,  greeted  gaily  from  the  boudoir,  went  in. 
Plank  entered  the  library,  was  mauled  effusively  by  the 
major,  returned  Quarrier's  firm  hand  shake,  and  sat 
down  with  an  inquiring  smile. 

"  Oh,  yes,  we're  out  for  blood  to-night,"  tittered 
Major  Belwether,  grasping  Quarrier's  arm  humourously 
and  shaking  it  to  emphasise  his  words — a  habit  that 
Quarrier  thoroughly  disliked.  "  Sylvia  had  a  lot  of 
women  here  playing  for  the  season  score,  so  I  suggested 
she  keep  the  pick  of  them  for  dinner,  and  call  in  a  few 
choice  ones  to  make  a  night  of  it." 

"  It's  agreeable  to  me,"  said  Plank,  still  looking  at 
Quarrier  with  the  same  inquiring  expression,  which  that 
gentleman  presently  chose  to  understand. 

"  I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  look  into  that  matter," 
he  said  carelessly.  "  Some  day,  when  you  have  time  to 
go  over  it " 

"  I  have  time  now,"  said  Plank ;  "  there's  nothing  to 
go  over;  there's  no  reason  for  any  secrecy.  All  I  wrote 
you  was  that  I  proposed  to  control  the  stock  of  Amal 
gamated  Electric  and  that  I  wished  your  advice  in  the 
matter." 

"  I  could  not  give  you  any  advice  off-hand  on  such 
an  extraordinary  suggestion,"  returned  Quarrier  coldly. 
"  If  you  know  where  the  stock  is,  you'll  understand." 

320 


THE   SEAMY   SIDE 


"  Do  you  mean  what  it  is  quoted  at,  or  who  owns 
it?"  interrupted  Plank. 

"  Who  owns  it.  Everybody  knows  where  it  has 
dropped  to,  I  suppose.  Most  people  know,  too,  where 
it  is  held." 

"  Yes ;  I  do." 

"  And  who  is  manipulating  it,"  added  Quarrier  in 
differently. 

"  Do  you  mean  Harrington's  people  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mean  anybody  in  particular,  Mr.  Plank." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Plank,  staring,  "  I  was  sure  you 
couldn't  have  meant  Harrington ;  because,"  he  went  on 
deliberately,  "  there  are  other  theories  floating  about 
that  mysterious  pool,  one  of  which  I've  proved." 

Quarrier  looked  at  him  out  of  his  velvety-lidded 
eyes: 

"  What  have  you  proved  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you,  if  you'll  appoint  an  interview." 

"  I'll  come  too,"  began  Belwether,  who  had  been 
listening,  loose-mouthed  and  intent ;  "  we're  all  in  it — 
Howard,  Kemp  Ferrall,  and  I " 

"  And  Stephen  Siward,"  observed  Plank,  so  quietly 
that  Quarrier  never  even  raised  his  eyes  to  read  the 
stolid  face  opposite. 

Presently  he  said :  "  Do  you  know  anybody  who  can 
deliver  you  any  considerable  block  of  Amalgamated 
Electric  at  the  market  figures  ?  " 

"  I  could  deliver  you  several  blocks,  if  you  care  to 
bid,"  said  Plank  bluntly. 

Belwether  grew  red,  then  pale.  Quarrier  stiffened 
in  his  chair,  but  his  eyes  were  only  sceptical.  Plank's 
under  lip  had  begun  to  protrude  again ;  he  swung 
his  massive  head,  looking  from  Belwether  back  to 
Quarrier : 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 


"  Pool  or  no  pool,"  he  continued,  "  you  Amalga 
mated  people  will  want  to  see  the  stock  climb  back  into 
the  branches  from  which  somebody  shook  it  out;  and 
I  propose  to  put  it  there.  That  is  all  I  had  meant  to 
say  to  you,  Mr.  Quarrier.  I'm  not  averse  to  saying  it 
here  to  you,  and  I  do.  There's  no  secrecy  about  it. 
Figure  out  for  yourself  how  much  stock  I  control,  and 
who  let  it  go.  Settle  your  family  questions  and  put 
your  house  in  order;  then  invite  me  to  call,  and  I'll  do  it. 
And  I  have  an  idea  that  we  are  going  to  stand  on  our 
own  legs  again,  and  recover  our  self-respect  and  our 
fighting  capacity;  and  I  rather  think  we'll  stop  this 
hold-up  business,  and  that  our  Inter-County  friend  will 
let  go  the  sand-bag  and  pocket  the  jimmy,  and  talk 
business  across  the  line-fence." 

Quarrier's  characteristic  pallor  was  no  index  to  his 
feelings,  nor  was  his  icy  reticence.  All  hell  might  be 
boiling  below. 

When  anybody  gave  Quarrier  a  letter  to  read  he 
took  a  long  time  reading  it;  but  if  he  was  slow  he  was 
also  minute;  he  went  over  every  word  again  and  again, 
studying,  absorbing  each  letter,  each  period,  the  con 
formation  of  every  word.  And  when  he  ended  he  had 
in  his  brain  a  photograph  of  the  letter  which  he  would 
never  forget. 

And  now,  slowly,  minutely,  methodically,  he  was  go 
ing  over  and  over  Plank's  words,  and  his  manner  of 
saying  them,  and  their  surface  import,  and  the  hidden 
one,  if  any. 

If  Plank  had  spoken  the  truth — and  there  was  no 
reason  to  doubt  it — Plank  had  quietly  acquired  a  con 
trolling  interest  in  Amalgamated  Electric.  That  meant 
treachery  in  somebody.  Who?  Probably  Siward,  per 
haps  Bel  wether.  He  would  not  look  at  the  latter  just 


"'I  don't  mean  anybody  in  particular,   Mr.   Plank.'' 


THE   SEAMY   SIDE 


yet;  not  for  a  minute  or  two.  There  was  time  enough 
to  see  through  that  withered,  pink-and-white  old  fraud. 
But  why  had  Plank  done  this  ?  And  why  did  Plank  sus 
pect  him  of  any  desire  to  wreck  his  own  property?  He 
did  suspect  him,  that  was  certain. 

After  a  silence,  he  spoke  quietly  and  without  emo 
tion  : 

"  Everybody  concerned  will  be  glad  to  see  Amalga 
mated  Electric  declaring  dividends.  This  is  a  shock  to 
us,"  he  glanced  impassively  at  the  shrunken  major,  "  but 
a  pleasant  shock.  I  think  it  well  to  arrange  a  meeting 
as  soon  as  possible." 

"  To-morrow,"  said  Plank,  with  a  manner  of  closing 
discussion.  And  in  his  brusque  ending  of  the  matter 
Quarrier  detected  the  ringing  undertone  of  an  authority 
he  never  had  and  never  would  endure;  and  though  his 
pale,  composed  features  betrayed  not  the  subtlest  shade 
of  emotion,  he  was  aware  that  a  new  element  had  come 
into  his  life — a  new  force  was  growing  out  of  nothing 
to  confront  hirn,  an  unfamiliar  shape  loomed  vaguely 
ahead,  throwing  its  huge  distorted  shadow  across  his 
path.  He  sensed  it  with  the  instinct  of  kind  for  kind, 
not  because  Plank's  millions  meant  anything  to  him  as 
a  force ;  not  because  this  lumbering,  red-faced  meddler 
had  blundered  into  a  family  affair  where  confidence  con 
sisted  in  joining  hands  lest  a  pocket  be  inadvertently 
picked;  not  because  Plank  had  knocked  at  the  door, 
expecting  treachery  to  open,  and  had  found  it,  but 
because  of  the  awful  simplicity  of  the  man  and  his 
methods. 

If  Plank  suspected  him,  he  must  also  suspect  him  of 
complicity  in  the  Inter-County  grab;  he  must  suspect 
him  of  the  ruthless  crushing  power  that  corrupts  or  an 
nihilates  opposition,  making  a  mockery  of  legislation,  a 

323 


THE    FIGHTIXG    CHAXCE 

jest  of  the  courts,  and  an  epigram  of  a  people's  indig 
nation. 

And  vet,  in  the  face  of  all  this,  careless,  fearless, 
frank  to  the  outer  verge  of  stupidity — which  sometimes 
means  the  inability  to  be  afraid — this  man  Plank  was 
casually  telling  him  things  which  men  regard  as  secrets 
and  as  •lapim  of  defence — was  actually  averting  him 
of  his  peril,  and  telling  him  almost  contemptuously  to 
pull  up  the  drawbridge  and  prepare  for  siege,  instead 
of  rushing  the  castle  and  giving  it  to  the  sack. 

As  Quarrier  sat  there  meditating,  his  long,  white  fin- 
|  i  CUCH  _".>>:!%  pointed  beard,  Sylvia  came  in, 
greeting  the  men  collectively  with  a  nod,  and  offering 
her  hand  to  Plank. 

"  Dinner  is  announced,"   she  said :  *%  please  go  in 
farm  fashion.     Wait ! ~  as  Plank,  following  the  major 
and  Quarrier,  stood  aside  for  her  to  pass,     "  N  o 
go  ahead,  Howard:  and  you,"  to  the  major. 

Left  for  a  moment  in  the  room  with  Plank,  she  stood 
listening  to  the  others  descending  the  stairs;  then: 

"  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Siward?  " 

"  Yes,"  "said  Plank. 

«Oh!    Is  he  weflr  " 

"  Xot  ver; 

"  Is  he  wefi  enough  to  read  a  letter,  and  to  answer 

"  Oh,  yes :  he?s  wtdl  enough  in  that  way.59 

"  I  supposed  so.  That  is  why  I  said  to  you,  over 
the  wire,  not  to  trouble  him  with  my  request." 

"  You  mean  that  I  am  mot  to  say  anything  about 
your  offer  to  buy  the  hunter?  " 

**  No,  If  I  make  up  my  mind  that  I  want  the  horse 
FD  write  him — perhaps.5* 

Lingering  still,  she  let  one  hand  fall  on  the  ban- 
324 


THE   SEAMY   SIDE 


isters,  turning  back  toward  Plank,  who  was  fol 
lowing: 

"  I  understood  you  to  mean  that — that  Mr.  Si  ward's 
financial  affairs  were  anything  but  satisfactory?  " — the 
sweet,  trailing,  upward  inflection  making  it  a  question. 

"  When  did  I  say  that?  "  demanded  Plank. 

"  Once — a  month  ago." 

"  I  didn't,"  said  Plank  bluntly. 

"  Oh,  I  had  inferred  it,  then,  from  something  you 
said,  or  something  you  were  silent  about.  Is  that  it?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Am  I  quite  wrong,  then  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  him 
in  the  eyes. 

And  Plank,  who  never  lied,  found  no  answer.  Con 
sidering  him  for  a  moment  in  silence,  she  turned  again 
and  descended  the  stairs. 

The  dinner  was  one  of  those  thoroughly  well-chosen 
dinners  of  few  courses  and  faultless  service  suitable  for 
card-players,  who  neither  care  to  stuff  themselves  as  a 
preliminary  to  a  battle  royal,  nor  to  dawdle  through 
courses,  eliminating  for  themselves  what  is  not  good  for 
them.  The  men  drank  a  light,  sound,  aromatic  Irish  of 
the  major's;  the  women — except  Marion,  who  took  what 
the  men  took — used  claret  sparingly.  Coffee  was  served 
where  they  sat;  the  men  smoking,  Agatha  and  Marion 
producing  their  own  cigarettes. 

"  Don't  you  smoke  any  more?  "  asked  Grace  Fer- 
rall  of  Leila  Mortimer,  and  at  the  smiling  negative, 
"  Oh,  that  perhaps  explains  it.  You're  growing  posi 
tively  radiant,  you  know.  You'll  be  wearing  a  braid  and 
a  tuck  in  your  skirt  if  you  go  on  getting  younger." 

Leila  laughed,  colouring  up  as  Plank  turned  in  his 
chair  to  look  at  her  closer. 

"No,  it  won't  rub  off,  Mr.  Plank,"  said  Marion 
325 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

coolly,  "  bat  mine  will.     This,"  touching  a  faint  spot 
of  colour  under  her  eyes,  "  is  art." 

"  Pooh!  I'm  all  art!  "  said  Grace.  "  Observe,  Mr. 
Plank,  that  under  this  becoming  flush  are  the  same 
old  freckles  you  saw  at  Shotover."  And  she  laughed 
that  sweet,  careless  laugh  of  an  adolescent  and  straight 
ened  her  boyish  figure,  pretty  head  held  high,  add 
ing  :  "  Kemp  won't  let  me  '  improve '  myself,  or  I'd 
do  it." 

"  You  are  perfect,"  said  Sylvia,  rising  from  the 
table,  her  own  lovely,  rounded,  youthful  figure  condon 
ing  the  exaggeration ;  "  you're  sufficiently  sweet  as  you 
are.  Good  people,  if  you  are  ready,  we  will  go  through 
the  ceremony  of  cutting  for  partners — unless  otherwise 
you  decide.  How  say  you?  " 

"  /  don't  care  to  enter  the  scramble  for  a  man," 
cried  Grace.  "  If  it's  to  choose,  I'd  as  soon  choose 
Marion." 

Plank  looked  at  Leila,  who  laughed. 

"All  right;  choose,  then!"  said  Sylvia.  "How 
ard,  you're  dying,  of  course,  to  play  with  me,  but  you're 
looking  very  guiltily  at  Agatha." 

The  major  asked  Leila  at  once;  so  Plank  fell  to 
Sylvia,  pitted  against  Marion  and  Grace  Ferrall. 

A  few  moments  later  the  quiet  of  the  library  was 
broken  by  the  butler  entering  with  decanters  and  ice,  and 
glasses  that  tinkled  frostily. 

Play  began  at  table  Number  One  on  a  passed  make 
of  no  trumps  by  Sylvia,  and  at  the  other  table  on  a 
doubled  and  redoubled  heart  make,  which  sent  a  deli 
cate  flush  into  Agatha's  face,  and  drove  the  last  vestige 
of  lingering  thought  fulness  from  Quarrier's,  leaving  it 
a  tense,  pallid,  and  expressionless  mask,  out  of  which 
looked  the  velvet-fringed  eyes  of  a  woman. 

326 


THE   SEAMY   SIDE 


Of  all  the  faces  there  at  the  two  tables,  Sylvia's  alone 
had  not  changed,  neither  assuming  the  gambler's  mask 
nor  the  infatuated  glare  of  the  amateur.  She  was 
thoughtful,  excited,  delighted,  or  dismayed  by  turns, 
but  always  wholesomely  so ;  the  game  for  its  own  sake, 
and  not  the  stakes,  absorbing  her,  partly  because  she 
had  never  permitted  herself  to  weigh  money  and  pleasure 
in  the  same  balance,  but  kept  a  mental  pair  of  scales  for 
each. 

As  usual,  the  fever  of  gain  was  fiercest  in  those  who 
could  afford  to  lose  most.  Quarrier,  playing  to  rule 
with  merciless  precision,  coldly  exacted  every  penalty 
that  a  lapse  in  his  opponents  permitted.  Agatha,  her 
teeth  set  in  her  nether  lip,  her  eyes  like  living  jewels, 
answered  Quarrier's  every  signal,  interpreted  every  sign, 
her  play  fitting  in  exactly  with  his,  as  though  she  were 
his  subconscious  self  balancing  the  perfectly  adjusted 
mechanism  of  his  body  and  mind. 

Now  and  then  lifting  her  eyes,  she  sent  a  long,  lim 
pid  glance  at  Quarrier  like  a  pale  shaft  of  light;  and 
under  his  heavy- fringed  lashes,  at  moments,  his  level  gaze 
encountered  her's  with  a  slow  narrowing  of  lids — as 
though  there  was  more  than  one  game  in  progress,  more 
than  one  stake  being  played  for  under  the  dull  rose  glow 
of  the  clustered  lights. 

Sylvia,  sitting  dummy  at  the  other  table,  mechan 
ically  alert  to  Plank's  cards  dropping  in  rapid  sequence 
as  he  played  alternately  from  his  own  hand  and  the 
dummy,  permitted  her  thoughtful  eyes  to  wander  toward 
Agatha  from  moment  to  moment.  How  alluring  her 
subtle  beauty,  in  its  own  strange  way!  How  perfect 
her  accord  with  her  partner !  How  faultless  her  intelli 
gence,  divining  the  very  source  of  every  hidden  motive 
controlling  him,  forestalling  his  intent — acquiescent, 
22  327 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

delicate,    marvellous   intelligence — the   esoteric    comple 
ment  of  two  parts  of  a  single  mind. 

The  collar  of  diamonds  and  aqua  marines  shimmered 
like  the  reflection  of  shadowy  lightning  across  her 
throat;  a  single  splendid  jewel  glowed  on  her  left  hand 
as  her  fingers  flashed  among  the  cards  for  the  make-up. 

"  A  hundred  aces,"  broke  in  Plank's  heavy  voice  as 
he  played  the  last  trick  and  picked  up  the  scoring  card 
and  pencil. 

Sylvia's  blue  eyes  were  laughing  as  Plank  cut  the 
new  pack.  Marion  Page  coolly  laid  aside  her  cigarette, 
dealt,  and  made  it  "  without "  in  the  original. 

"  May  I  play?  "  asked  Sylvia  sweetly. 

"  Please,"  growled  Plank. 

So  Sylvia  serenely  played  from  the  "  top  of  noth 
ing,"  and  Grace  Ferrall  whisked  a  wonderful  dummy 
across  the  green ;  and  Plank's  thick  under  lip  began  to 
protrude,  and  he  lowered  his  heavy  head  like  a  bull 
at  bay. 

Once  Marion,  over-intent,  touched  a  card  in  the 
dummy  when  she  should  have  played  from  her  own  hand ; 
and  Sylvia  would  have  let  it  pass,  had  not  Plank  calmly 
noted  the  penalty. 

"  Oh,  dear !  It's  too  much  like  business,"  sighed 
Sylvia.  "  Can't  we  play  for  the  sake  of  the  sport? 
I  don't  think  it  good  sportsmanship  to  profit  by  a 
blunder." 

"  Rule,"  observed  Marion  laconically.  "  'Ware 
barbed  wire,  if  you  want  the  brush." 

"  I  myself  never  was  crazy  for  the  brush,"  mur 
mured  Sylvia. 

Grace  whispered  maliciously :  "But  you've  got  it, 
with  the  mask  and  pads,"  and  her  mischievous  head 
barely  tipped  backward  in  the  direction  of  Quarrier. 

328 


THE   SEAMY   SIDE 


"  Especially  the  mask,"  returned  Sylvia,  under  her 
breath,  and  laid  on  the  table  the  last  card  of  a  Yar- 
borough. 

Plank  scored  without  comment.  Marion  cut,  and 
resumed  her  cigarette.  Sylvia  dealt  with  that  witchery 
of  rounded  wrists  and  slim  fingers  fascinating  to  men 
and  women  alike.  Then,  cards  en  regie,  passed  the 
make.  Plank,  cautiously  consulting  the  score,  made  it 
spades,  which  being  doubled,  Grace  led  a  "  singleton  " 
ace,  and  Plank  slapped  down  a  strong  dummy  and  folded 
his  great  arms. 

Toward  midnight,  Sylvia,  absorbed  in  her  dummy, 
fancied  she  heard  the  electric  bell  ringing  at  the  front 
door.  Later,  having  barely  made  the  odd,  she  was  turn 
ing  to  look  at  the  major,  when,  beyond  him,  she  saw 
Leroy  Mortimer  enter  the  room,  sullen,  pasty-skinned, 
but  perfectly  sober  and  well  groomed. 

"  You  are  a  trifle  late,"  observed  Sylvia  carelessly. 
Grace  Ferrall  and  Marion  ignored  him.  Plank  bade 
him  good  evening  in  a  low  voice. 

The  people  at  the  other  table,  having  completed  their 
rubber,  looked  around  at  Mortimer  in  disagreeable  sur 
prise. 

"  Pll  cut  in,  if  you  want  me.  If  you  don't,  say  so," 
observed  Mortimer. 

It  was  plain  that  they  did  not ;  so  he  settled  himself 
in  an  arm-chair,  with  an  ugly  glance  at  his  wife  and  an 
insolent  one  at  Quarrier;  and  the  game  went  on  in  si 
lence;  Leila  and  the  major  still  losing  heavily  under  the 
sneering  gaze  of  Mortimer. 

At  last,  "  Who's  carrying  you?  "  he  broke  out,  ex 
asperated;  and  in  the  shocked  silence  Leila,  very  white, 
made  a  movement  to  rise,  but  Quarrier  laid  his  long  fin 
gers  across  her  arm,  pressing  her  backward. 

329 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  You  don't  know  what  you're  saying,"  he  remarked, 
looking  coldly  at  Mortimer. 

Plank  laid  down  his  cards,  rose,  and  walked  over  to 
Mortimer : 

"  May  I  have  a  word  with  you?  "  he  asked  bluntly. 

"  You  may.  And  I'll  help  myself  to  a  word  or  two 
with  you,"  retorted  Mortimer,  following  Plank  out  of 
the  room,  down  the  stairs  to  the  lighted  reception-room, 
where  they  wheeled,  confronting  one  another. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  demanded  Plank.  "  At  the 
club  they  told  me  you  were  asleep  in  the  card-room.  I 
didn't  tell  Leila.  What  is  wrong?  " 

"  I'm — I'm  dead  broke,"  said  Mortimer  harshly. 
"  Billy  Fleetwood  took  my  paper.  Can  you  help  me 
out?  It's  due  to-morrow." 

Plank  looked  at  him  gravely,  but  made  no  answer. 

"  Can  you?  "  repeated  Mortimer  violently.  "  Haven't 
I  done  enough  for  you?  Haven't  I  done  enough  for 
everybody?  Is  anybody  going  to  show  me  any  con 
sideration?  Look  at  Quarrier's  manner  to  me  just  now! 
And  this  very  day  I  did  him  a  service  that  all  his  mil 
lions  can't  repay.  And  there  you  stand,  too,  staring  at 
me  as  though  I  were  some  damned  importuning  shabby- 
genteel,  hinting  around  for  an  opening  to  touch  you. 
Yes,  you  do!  And  this  very  day  I  have  done  for  you 
the — the  most  vital  thing — the  most  sacred  favour  one 
man  can  do  for  another " 

He  halted,  stammered  something  incoherent,  his  bat 
tered  eyes  wet  with  tears.  The  man  was  a  wreck — nerves, 
stamina,  mind  on  the  very  verge  of  collapse. 

"  I'll  help  you,  of  course,"  said  Plank,  eyeing  him. 
"  Go  home,  now,  and  sleep.  I  tell  you  I'll  help  you  in 
the  morning.  .  .  .  Don't  give  way !  Have  you  no  grit  ? 
Pull  up  sharp,  I  tell  you !  " 

330 


THE   SEAMY   SIDE 


But  Mortimer  had  fallen  into  a  chair,  his  ravaged 
face  cradled  in  his  hands.  "  I've  got  all  that's  c-com- 
ing  to  me,"  he  said  hoarsely ;  "  I'm  all  in — all  in !  God ! 
but  I've  got  the  jumps  this  trip.  .  .  .  You'll  stand  for 
this,  won't  you,  Plank?  I  was  batty,  but  I  woke  up  in 
time  to  grasp  the  live  wire  Billy  Fleetwood  held — three 
shocks  in  succession — and  his  were  queens  full  to  my 
jacks — aces  to  kings  twice! — Alderdene  and  Voucher  sit 
ting  in  until  they'd  started  me  off  hiking  hellward !  " 

He  began  to  ramble,  and  even  to  laugh  weakly,  pass 
ing  his  puffy,  shaking  hands  across  his  eyes. 

"  It's  good  of  you,  Beverly ;  I  appreciate  it.  But 
I've  been  good  to  you.  You're  all  to  the  good,  my  boy ! 
Understand?  All  to  the  good.  I  fixed  it;  I  did  it  for 
you.  You  can  have  your  innings  now.  You  can  have 
her  when  you  want  her,  I  tell  you." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Plank  menacingly. 

"  Mean !  I  mean  what  I  told  you  that  day  at  Black 
Fells,  when  we  were  riding.  I  told  you  you  had  a 
chance  to  win  out.  Now  the  chance  has  come — same's 
I  told  you.  Start  in,  and  by  the  time  you're  ready  to 
say  «  When?  '  she'll  be  there  with  the  bottle !  " 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  perfectly  sane  yet,"  said 
Plank  slowly. 

"  Let  it  go  at  that,  then,"  sniggered  Mortimer, 
struggling  to  his  feet.  "  Bring  Leila  back ;  I'm  all 
in ;  I'm  going  home.  You'll  be  around  in  the  morning, 
won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Plank.    "  Have  you  got  a  cab?  " 

Mortimer  had  one.  The  glass  and  iron  doors 
clanged  behind  him,  and  Plank,  waiting  a  moment, 
sighed,  raised  his  head,  and,  encountering  the  curious 
gaze  of  a  servant,  trudged  off  up-stairs  again. 

The  game  had  ended  at  both  tables.  Quarrier  and 
331 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Agatha  stood  by  the  window  together,  conversing  in  low 
voices.  Belwether,  at  a  desk,  sat  muttering  and  fussing 
with  a  cheque-book.  The  others  were  in  Sylvia's  apart 
ments. 

A  few  moments  later  Kemp  Ferrall  arrived,  in  the 
best  of  spirits,  very  much  inclined  to  consider  the  night 
as  still  young ;  but  his  enthusiasm  met  with  no  response, 
and  presently  he  departed  with  his  wife  and  Marion  in 
their  big  Mercedes,  wheeling  into  the  avenue  at  a  reck 
less  pace,  and  streaming  away  through  the  night  like 
a  meteor  run  mad. 

Leila,  in  her  wraps,  emerged  in  a  few  moments,  look 
ing  at  Plank  out  of  serious  eyes;  and  they  made  their 
brief  adieux  and  went  away  in  Plank's  brougham. 

When  Agatha's  maid  arrived,  Quarrier  also  started 
to  take  his  leave ;  but  Sylvia,  seated  at  a  card-table,  idly 
arranging  the  cards  in  geometrical  designs  and  fanciful 
arabesques,  looked  up  at  him,  saying: 

"  I  wanted  to  say  something  to  you,  Howard." 

Agatha  passed  them,  going  into  Sylvia's  room  for 
her  wraps ;  and  Quarrier  turned  to  Sylvia : 

"Well?"  he  said,  with  the  slightest  hint  of  impa 
tience. 

"  Can't  you  stay  a  minute? "  asked  Sylvia,  sur 
prised. 

"  Agatha  is  going  in  the  motor  with  me.  Is  it  any 
thing  important  ?  " 

She  considered  him  without  replying.  She  had  never 
before  detected  that  manner,  that  hardness  in  a  voice  al 
ways  so  even  in  quality. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  repeated. 

She  thought  a  moment,  putting  aside  for  the  time 
his  manner,  which  she  could  not  comprehend;  then: 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  a  question — a  rather  ignorant 
332 


THE   SEAMY   SIDE 


one,  perhaps.  It's  about  your  Amalgamated  Electric 
Company.  May  I  ask  it,  Howard  ?  " 

After  a  second's  stare,  "  Certainly,"  he  said. 

"  It's  only  this :  If  the  other  people — the  Inter- 
County,  I  mean — are  slowly  ruining  Amalgamated,  why 
don't  you  stop  it  ?  " 

Quarrier's  eyes  narrowed.  "  Oh !  And  who  have 
you  been  discussing  the  matter  with?  " 

"  Mr.  Plank,"  she  said  simply.  "  I  asked  him.  He 
shook  his  head,  and  said  I'd  better  ask  you.  And  I  do 
ask  you." 

For  a  moment  he  stood  mute;  then  his  lips  began 
to  shrink  back  over  his  beautiful  teeth  in  one  of  his  rare 
laughs. 

"  I'll  be  very  glad  to  explain  it  some  day,"  he  said ; 
but  there  was  no  mirth  in  his  voice  or  eyes,  only  the 
snickering  lip  wrinkling  the  pallor. 

"  Will  you  not  answer  now  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  not  now.  But  I  desire  you  to  understand  it 
some  day — some  day  before  November.  And  one  or 
two  other  matters  that  it  is  necessary  for  you  to  un 
derstand.  I  want  to  explain  them,  Sylvia,  in  such  a 
manner  that  you  will  never  be  likely  to  forget  them. 
And  I  mean  to ;  for  they  are  never  out  of  my  mind,  and 
I  wish  them  to  be  as  ineffaceably  impressed  on  yours. 
.  .  .  Good  night." 

He  took  her  limp  hand  almost  briskly,  released  it, 
and  stepped  down  the  stairs  as  Agatha  entered,  cloaked, 
to  say  good  night. 

They  kissed  at  parting — "  life  embracing  death  " — 
as  Mortimer  had  sneered  on  a  similar  occasion ;  then  Syl 
via,  alone,  stood  in  her  bedroom,  hands  linked  behind  her, 
her  lovely  head  bent,  groping  with  the  very  ghosts  of 
thought  which  eluded  her,  fleeing,  vanishing,  reappear- 

333 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

ing,  to  peep  out  at  her  only  to  fade  into  nothing  ere 
she  could  follow  where  they  flitted  through  the  dark 
labyrinths  of  memory. 

The  major,  craning  his  neck  in  the  bay-window,  saw 
Agatha  and  Quarrier  enter  the  big,  yellow  motor,  and 
disappear  behind  the  limousine.  And  it  worried  him  hor 
ribly,  because  he  knew  perfectly  well  that  Quarrier 
had  lied  to  him  about  a  jewelled  collar  precisely  like  the 
collar  worn  by  Agatha  Caithness;  and  what  to  do  or 
what  to  say  to  anybody  on  the  subject  was,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  utterly  beyond  his  garrulous  ability. 
So,  for  the  first  time  also  in  his  chattering  career,  he 
held  his  tongue,  reassured  at  moments,  at  other  mo 
ments  panic-stricken  lest  this  marriage  he  had  engineered 
should  go  amiss,  and  his  ambitions  be  nipped  at  the 
very  instant  of  triumphant  maturity. 

"  This  sort  of  thing — in  your  own  caste — among 
your  own  kind,"  his  panicky  thoughts  ran  on,  "  is  b-bad 
form — rotten  bad  taste  on  both  sides.  If  they  were 
married — one  of  them,  anyway!  But  this  isn't  right; 
no,  by  gad!  it's  bad  taste,  and  no  gentleman  could 
countenance  it ! " 

It  was  plain  that  he  could,  however,  his  only  fear 
being  that  somebody  might  whisper  something  to  turn 
Sylvia's  innocence  into  a  terrible  wisdom  which  would 
ruin  everything,  and  knock  the  underpinning  from  the 
new  tower  which  his  inflated  fancy  beheld  slowly  grow 
ing  heavenward,  surmounting  the  house  of  Belwether. 

Another  matter:  he  had  violated  his  word,  and  had 
been  caught  at  it  by  his  prospective  nephew-in-law — 
broken  his  pledged  word  not  to  sell  his  Amalgamated 
Electric  holdings,  and  had  done  it.  Yet,  how  could 
Plank  dominate,  unless  another  also  had  done  what  he 
had  done?  And  it  made  him  a  little  more  comfortable 

334 


THE   SEAMY   SIDE 


to  know  he  was  sharing  the  fault  with  somebody — prob 
ably  with  Siward,  whom  he  now  had  the  luxury  of 
despising  for  the  very  thing  he  himself  had  done. 

"  Drunkard!  "  he  muttered  to  himself;  "  he's  in  the 
gutter  at  last!" 

And  he  repeated  it  unctuously,  almost  reconciled  to 
his  own  shortcoming,  because  it  was  the  first  time,  as 
far  as  he  knew,  that  a  Belwether  might  legitimately  enjoy 
the  pleasures  of  holding  the  word  of  a  Siward  in  con 
tempt. 

Sylvia  had  dismissed  her  maid,  the  old  feeling  of 
distaste  for  the  touch  of  another  had  returned  since  the 
last  mad,  crushed  embrace  in  Siward's  arms  had  become 
a  memory.  More  and  more  she  was  returning  to  old 
instincts,  old  habits  of  thought,  reverting  to  type  once 
more,  virgin  of  lip  and  thought  and  desire,  save  when 
the  old  memory  stopped  her  heart  suddenly,  then  sent 
it  racing,  touching  her  face  with  quick,  crimson  imprint. 

Now,  blue  eyes  dreaming  under  the  bright  masses  of 
her  loosened  hair,  she  sat  watching  the  last  glimmer 
amid  the  ashes  whitening  on  the  hearth,  thinking  of 
Siward  and  of  what  had  been  between  them,  and  of  what 
could  never  be — never,  never  be. 

One  red  spark  among  the  ashes — her  ambition, 
deathless  amid  the  ashes  of  life !  When  that,  too,  went 
out,  life  must  be  extinct. 

What  he  had  roused  in  her  had  died  when  he  went 
away.  It  could  never  awake  again,  unless  he  returned 
to  awaken  it.  And  he  never  would ;  he  would  never  come 
again. 

One  brief  interlude  of  love,  of  passion,  in  her  life 
could  neither  tint  nor  taint  the  cool,  normal  sequence  of 
her  days.  All  that  life  held  for  a  woman  of  her  caste — 
all  save  that — was  hers  when  she  stretched  out  her  hand 

335 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

for  it — hers  by  right  of  succession,  of  descent;  hers  by 
warrant  unquestioned,  by  the  unuttered  text  of  the  ukase 
to  be  launched,  if  necessary,  by  that  very,  very  old  lady, 
drowsing,  enthroned,  as  the  endless  pageant  wound  like 
a  jewelled  river  at  her  feet. 

So  Siward  could  never  come  again,  sauntering  toward 
her  through  the  sunlight,  smiling  his  absent  smile.  She 
caught  her  breath  painfully,  straightening  up ;  a  single 
ash  fell  in  the  fire;  the  last  spark  went  out. 


CHAPTER    XI 

THE    CALL    OF    THE    RAIN 

THE  park  was  very  misty  and  damp  and  still  that 
morning. 

There  was  a  scent  of  sap  and  new  buds  in  the  Feb 
ruary  haze,  a  glimmer  of  green  on  southern  slopes,  a 
distant  bird  note,  tentative,  then  confident,  rippling  from 
the  gray  tangle  of  naked  thickets.  Here  and  there  in 
hollows  the  tips  of  amber-tinted  shoots  pricked  the  soil's 
dark  surface;  here  and  there  in  the  sparse  woodlands 
a  withered  leaf  still  clinging  to  oak  or  beech  was  forced 
to  let  go  by  the  swelling  bud  at  its  base  and  fell  rustling 
stiffly  in  the  silence. 

Far  away  on  the  wooded  bridle-path  the  dulled 
double  gallop  of  horses  sounded,  now  muffled  in  a  hol 
low,  now  louder,  jarring  the  rising  ground,  nearer, 
heavier,  then  suddenly  checked  to  a  trample,  as  Sylvia 
drew  bridle  by  the  reservoir,  and,  straightening  in  her 
saddle,  raised  her  flushed  face  to  the  sky. 

"  Rain?  "  she  asked,  as  Quarrier,  controlling  his 
beautiful,  restive  horse,  ranged  up  beside  her. 

"  Probably,"  he  said,  scarcely  glancing  at  the  sky, 
where,  above  the  great  rectangular  lagoons,  hundreds 
of  sea-gulls,  high  in  the  air,  hung  flapping,  stemming 
some  rushing  upper  gale  unfelt  below. 

She  walked  her  mount,  head  lifted,  watching  the 
gulls ;  he  followed,  uninterested,  imperturbable  in  his 
finished  horsemanship.  With  horses  he  always  appeared 

337 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

to  advantage,  whether  on  the  box  of  break  or  coach,  or 
silently  controlling  a  spike  or  tandem,  or  sitting  his 
saddle  in  his  long-limbed,  faultless  fashion,  maintaining 
without  effort  the  very  essence  of  form.  Here  he  was 
at  his  best,  perfectly  informal,  informally  perfect. 

They  had  ridden  every  day  since  the  weather  per 
mitted — even  before  it  permitted — thrashing  and  slash 
ing  through  the  rotting  ice  and  snow,  galloping  over 
the  frozen,  gravelly  loam,  amid  leafless  trees  and  a 
winter-smitten  perspective — drearier  for  the  distant, 
eastern  glimpse  of  the  avenue's  marble  and  limestone 
facades  and  the  vast  cliffs  of  masonry  and  brick  looming 
above  the  west  and  south. 

On  these  daily  rides  together  it  was  her  custom  to 
discuss  practical  matters  concerning  their  future ;  and  it 
was  his  custom  to  listen  until  pressed  for  a  suggestion, 
an  assent,  or  a  reply. 

Sparing  words — cautious,  chary  of  self-commitment, 
and  seldom  offering  to  assume  the  initiative — this  was 
the  surface  character  which  she  had  come  to  recognise 
and  acquiesce  in ;  this  was  Quarrier  as  he  had  been  de 
veloped  from  her  hazy,  preconceived  ideas  of  the  man 
before  she  had  finally  accepted  him  at  Shotover  the 
autumn  before.  She  also  knew  him  as  a  methodical  man, 
exacting  from  others  the  orderly  precision  which  char 
acterised  his  own  dealings ;  a  man  of  education  and  little 
learning,  of  attainments  and  little  cultivation,  conversant 
with  usages,  formal,  intensely  sensitive  to  ridicule,  in 
capable  of  humour. 

This  was  Quarrier  as  she  knew  him  or  had  known 
him.  Recently  she  had,  little  by  little,  become  aware  of 
an  indefinable  change  in  the  man.  For  one  thing,  he 
had  grown  more  reticent.  At  times,  too,  his  reserve 
seemed  to  have  something  almost  surly  about  it;  under 

338 


THE    CALL    OF    THE   EAIN 

his  cold  composure  a  hint  of  something  concealed,  watch 
ful,  and  very  quiet. 

Confidences  she  had  never  looked  for  in  him  nor 
desired.  It  appalled  her  at  moments  to  realise  how  little 
they  had  in  common,  and  that  only  on  the  surface — a 
communion  of  superficial  interest  incident  to  the  ful 
filment  of  social  duties  and  the  pursuit  of  pleasure.  Be 
yond  that  she  knew  nothing  of  him,  required  nothing 
of  him.  What  was  there  to  know  ?  what  to  require  ? 

Now  that  the  main  line  of  her  route  through  life 
had  been  surveyed  and  carefully  laid  out,  what  was  there 
more  for  her  in  life  than  to  set  out  upon  her  progress? 
It  was  her  own  road.  Presumptive  leader  already,  logi 
cal  leader  from  the  day  she  married — leader,  in  fact, 
when  the  ukase,  her  future  legacy,  so  decreed;  it  was 
a  royal  road  laid  out  for  her  through  the  gardens  and 
pleasant  places ;  a  road  for  her  alone,  and  over  it  she 
had  chosen  to  pass.  What  more  was  there  to  desire? 

From  the  going  of  Siward,  all  that  he  had  aroused 
in  her  of  love,  of  intelligence,  of  wholesome  desire  and 
sane  curiosity — the  intellectual  restlessness,  the  capacity 
for  passion,  the  renaissance  of  the  simpler  innocence — 
had  subsided  into  the  laissez  faire  of  dull  quiescence. 
If  in  her  he  had  sown,  imprudently,  subtle,  impulsive,  un 
worldly  ideas,  flowering  into  sudden  brilliancy  in  the 
quick  magic  of  his  companionship,  now  those  flowers  were 
dead  under  the  inexorable  winter  of  her  ambition,  where 
all  such  things  lay ;  her  lonely  childhood,  with  its  dimmed 
visions  of  mother-love  ineffable;  the  strange  splendour 
of  the  dreams  haunting  her  adolescence — pageants  of 
bravery  and  the  glitter  of  the  cross,  altars  of  self-denial 
and  pure  intent,  service  and  sacrifice  and  the  scorn  of 
wrong;  and  sometimes,  seen  dimly  with  enraptured  eyes 
through  dissolving  mists — the  man!  glimmering  for  an 

339 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

instant,  then  fading,  resolved  into  the  starry  void  which 
fashioned  him. 

Riding  there,  head  bent,  her  pulses  timing  the  slow 
pacing  of  her  horse,  she  presently  became  aware,  with 
out  looking  up,  that  Quarrier  was  watching  her.  Dreams 
vanished.  A  perfectly  unreasonable  sense  of  being  spied 
upon,  of  something  stealthy  about  it  all,  flashed  to  her 
mind  and  was  gone,  leaving  her  grave  and  perplexed. 
What  a  strange  suspicion !  What  an  infernal  inference ! 
What  grotesque  train  of  thought  could  have  culminated 
in  such  a  sinister  idea ! 

She  moved  slightly  in  her  saddle  to  look  at  him,  and 
for  an  instant  fancied  that  there  was  something  fur 
tive  in  his  eyes ;  only  for  an  instant,  for  he  quietly  picked 
up  the  thread  of  conversation  where  she  had  dropped 
it,  saying  that  it  had  been  raining  for  the  last  ten 
minutes,  and  that  they  might  as  well  turn  their  horses 
toward  shelter. 

"  I  don't  mind  the  rain,"  she  said  ;  "  there  is  a  spring 
like  odour  in  it.  Don't  you  notice  it?  " 

"  Not  particularly,"  he  replied. 

"  I  was  miles  away  a  moment  ago,"  she  said ;  "  years 
away,  I  mean — a  little  girl  again,  with  two  stiff  yellow 
braids,  trying  to  pretend  that  a  big  arm-chair  was 
my  mother's  lap  and  that  I  could  hear  her  whispering 
to  me.  And  there  I  sat,  on  a  day  like  this,  listening, 
pretending,  cuddled  up  tight,  and  looking  out  at  the 
first  rain  of  the  year  falling  in  the  backyard.  There 
was  an  odour  like  this  about  it  all.  Memory,  they  say, 
is  largely  a  matter  of  nose !  "  She  laughed,  fearing  that 
he  might  have  thought  her  sentimental,  already  regret 
ting  the  familiarity  of  thrusting  such  trivial  and  per 
sonal  incidents  upon  his  notice.  He  was  probably  too 

340 


THE    CALL    OF    THE   RAIN 

indifferent  to   comment  on  it,   merely   nodding  as   she 
ended. 

Then,  without  reason,  through  and  through  her  shot 
a  shiver  of  loneliness — utter  loneliness  and  isolation. 
Without  reason,  because  from  him  she  expected  nothing, 
required  nothing,  except  what  he  offered — the  emotion 
less  reticence  of  indifference,  the  composure  of  perfect 
formality.  What  did  she  want,  then — companions? 
She  had  them.  Friends?  She  could  scarcely  escape  from 
them.  Intimates?  She  had  only  to  choose  one  or  a 
hundred  attuned  responsive  to  her  every  mood,  every 
caprice.  Lonely?  With  the  men  of  New  York  crowd 
ing,  shouldering,  crushing  their  way  to  her  feet? 
Lonely?  With  the  women  of  New  York  struggling  al 
ready  for  precedence  in  her  favour? — omen  significant 
of  the  days  to  come,  of  those  future  years  diamond- 
linked  in  one  unbroken,  triumphant  glitter. 

Lonely! 

The  rain  was  falling  out  of  the  hanging  mist,  some 
thing  more  than  a  drizzle  now.  Quarrier  spoke  of  it 
again,  but  she  shook  her  head,  walking  her  horse  slowly 
onward.  The  train  of  thought  she  followed  was  slower 
still,  winding  on  and  on,  leading  her  into  half  light  and 
shadow,  and  in  and  out  through  hidden  trails  she 
should  have  known  by  this  time — always  on,  skirt 
ing  the  objective,  circling  it  through  sudden  turns.  And 
now  she  was  becoming  conscious  of  the  familiar  way; 
now  she  recognised  the  quiet,  still  by-ways  of  the  maze 
she  seemed  doomed  to  wander  in  forever.  But,  for  that 
matter,  all  paths  of  thought  were  alike  to  her,  for, 
sooner  or  later,  all  ultimately  led  to  him;  and  this  she 
was  already  aware  of  as  a  disturbing  phenomenon  to 
consider  and  account  for  and  to  provide  against — when 
she  had  leisure. 

341 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

"  About  that  Amalgamated  Electric  Company,"  she 
began  without  prelude ;  "  would  you  mind  answering  a 
question  or  two,  Howard?  " 

"  You  could  not  understand  it,"  he  said,  unpleas 
antly  disturbed  by  her  abruptness. 

"  As  you  please.  It  is  quite  true  I  can  make  noth 
ing  of  what  the  newspapers  are  saying  about  it,  except 
that  Mr.  Plank  seems  to  be  doing  a  number  of  things." 

"  Injunctions,  and  other  matters,"  observed  Quar- 
rier. 

"  Is  anybody  going  to  lose  any  money  in  it?  " 

"  Who,  for  example?  " 

"  Why — you,  for  example,"  she  said,  laughing. 

"  I  don't  expect  to." 

"  Then  it  is  going  to  turn  out  all  right?  And  Mr. 
Plank  and  Kemp  Ferrall  and  the  major  and — the  other 
people  interested,  are  not  going  to  be  almost  ruined 
by  the  Inter-County  people?  " 

"  Do  you  think  a  man  like  Plank  is  likely  to  be 
ruined,  as  you  say,  by  Amalgamated  Electric?  " 

"  No.     But  Kemp  and  the  major " 

"  I  think  the  major  is  out  of  danger,"  replied  Quar- 
rier,  looking  at  her  with  the  new,  sullen  narrowing  of  his 
eyes. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that.     Is  Kemp — and  the  others  ?  " 

"  Ferrall  could  stand  it  if  matters  go  wrong.  What 
others?" 

"  Why — the  other  owners  and  stockholders " 

"  What  others?     Who  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Mr.  Siward,  for  example,"  she  said  in  an  even 
voice,  leaning  over  to  pat  her  horse's  neck  with  her  gloved 
hand. 

"  Mr.  Siward  must  take  the  chances  we  all  take," 
observed  Quarrier. 


THE   CALL   OF   THE   RAIN 

"  But,  Howard,  it  would  really  mean  ruin  for  him  if 
matters  went  badly.  Wouldn't  it?  " 

"  I  am  not  familiar  with  the  details  of  Mr.  Siward's 
investments." 

"  Nor  am  I,"  she  said  slowly. 

He  made  no  reply. 

Lack  of  emotion  in  the  man  beside  her  she  always 
expected,  and  therefore  this  new,  sullen  note  in  his  voice 
perplexed  her.  Too,  at  times,  in  his  increasing  reticence 
there  seemed  to  be  almost  a  hint  of  cold  effrontery.  She 
felt  it  now — an  indefinite  suggestion  of  displeasure  and 
the  power  to  retaliate;  something  evasive,  watchful,  pa 
tiently  hostile;  and,  try  as  she  might,  she  could  not 
rid  herself  of  the  discomfort  of  it,  and  the  perplexity. 

She  spoke  about  other  things ;  he  responded  in  his 
impassive  manner.  Presently  she  turned  her  horse  and 
Quarrier  wheeled  his,  facing  a  warm,  fine  rain,  slanting 
thickly  from  the  south. 

His  silky,  vandyck  beard  was  all  wet  with  the 
moisture.  She  noticed  it,  and  unbidden  arose  the  vision 
of  the  gun-room  at  Shotover:  Quarrier's  soft  beard  wet 
with  rain;  the  phantoms  of  people  passing  and  repass- 
ing ;  Siward's  straight  figure  swinging  past,  silhouetted 
against  the  glare  of  light  from  the  billiard-room.  And 
here  she  made  an  effort  to  efface  the  vision,  shutting  her 
eyes  as  she  rode  there  in  the  rain.  But  clearly  against 
the  closed  lids  she  saw  the  phantoms  passing — spectres 
of  dead  hours,  the  wraith  of  an  old  happiness  masked 
with  youth  and  wearing  Siward's  features! 

She  must  stop  it!  What  was  all  this  crowding  in 
upon  her  as  she  rode  forward  through  the  driving  rain 
— all  this  resurgence  of  ghosts  long  laid,  long  exorcised? 
Had  the  odour  of  the  rain  stolen  her  senses,  awaken 
ing  memory  of  childish  solitude?  Was  it  that  which 
23  343 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

was  drugging  her  with  remembrance  of  Si  ward  and  the 
rattle  of  rain  in  the  bay-window  above  the  glass-roofed 
swimming-pool  ? 

She  opened  her  eyes  wide,  staring  straight  ahead 
into  the  thickening  rain ;  but  her  thoughts  were  loosened 
now,  tuned  to  the  increasing  rhythm  of  her  heart:  and 
she  saw  him  seated  there,  his  head  buried  in  his  hands 
as  she  stole  through  the  dim  corridors  to  her  first  tryst ; 
saw  him  look  up;  saw  herself  beside  him  among  the 
cushions;  tasted  again  the  rose-petals  that  her  lips  had 
stripped  from  the  blossoms ;  saw  once  more  the  dawn  of 
something  in  his  steady  eyes;  felt  his  arm  about  her, 
his  breath 

Her  horse,  suddenly  spurred,  bounded  forward 
through  the  rain,  and  she  rode  breathless,  with  lips  half 
parted,  as  if  afraid,  turning  her  head  to  look  behind — 
as  though  she  could  outride  the  phantom  clinging  to 
her  stirrup,  masked  like  youth,  wearing  the  shadowy 
eyes  of  Love! 

In  her  drenched  habit,  standing  before  her  dressing- 
room  fire,  she  heard  her  maid  soliciting  entrance,  and  paid 
no  heed,  the  door  being  locked — as  though  a  spectre  could 
be  bolted  out  of  rooms  and  houses!  Pacing  the  floor, 
restless,  annoyed,  and  dismayed  by  turns,  she  flung  her 
wet  skirt  and  coat  from  her,  piece  by  piece,  and  stood 
for  awhile,  like  some  slender  youth  in  riding  breeches 
and  shirt,  facing  the  fire,  her  fingers  resting  on  her  hips. 

In  the  dull  light  of  a  rainy  noon-day  the  fire  red 
dened  the  ceiling,  throwing  her  giant  shadow  across  the 
wall,  where  it  towered,  swaying,  like  a  ghost  above  her. 
She  caught  sight  of  it  over  her  shoulder,  and  watched 
it  absently ;  then  gazed  into  the  coals  again,  her  chin 
dropping  on  her  bared  chest. 


THE   CALL   OF   THE   RAIN 

At  her  maid's  repeated  knocking  she  turned,  her 
boots  and  the  single  spur  sparkling  in  the  firelight,  and 
opened  the  door. 

An  hour  later,  fresh  from  her  bath,  luxurious  in 
loose  and  filmy  lace,  her  small,  white  feet  shod  with  silk, 
she  lunched  alone,  cradled  among  the  cushions  of  her 
couch. 

Twice  she  strolled  through  the  rooms  leisurely, 
summoned  by  her  maid  to  the  telephone;  the  first  time 
to  chat  with  Grace  Ferrall,  who,  it  appeared,  was  a 
victim  of  dissipation,  being  still  abed,  and  out  of  humour 
with  the  rainy  world ;  the  second  time  to  answer  in  the 
negative  Marion's  suggestion  that  she  motor  to  Lake- 
wood  with  her  for  the  week's  end  before  they  closed  their 
house. 

Sauntering  back  again,  she  sipped  her  milk  and 
vichy,  tasted  the  strawberries,  tasted  a  big  black  grape, 
discarded  both,  and  lay  back  among  the  cushions,  her 
naked  arms  clasped  behind  her  head,  and  dropping  one 
knee  over  the  other,  stared  at  the  ceiling. 

Restlessness  and  caprice  ruled  her.  She  seldom 
smoked,  but  seeing  on  the  table  a  stray  cigarette  of 
the  sort  she  kept  for  any  intimates  who  might  desire 
them,  she  stretched  out  her  arm,  scratched  a  match,  and 
lighted  it  with  a  dainty  grimace. 

Lying  there,  she  tried  to  make  rings ;  but  the  smoke 
only  got  into  her  delicate  uptilted  nose  and  stung 
her  tongue,  and  she  very  soon  had  enough  of  her 
cigarette. 

Watching  the  slow  fire  consume  it  between  her  fin 
gers  she  lay  supine,  following  the  spirals  of  smoke  with 
inattentive  eyes.  By-and-by  the  lengthening  ash  fell, 
powdering  her,  and  she  threw  the  cigarette  into  the 
grate,  flicked  the  ashes  from  her  bare,  round  arm,  and, 

345 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

clasping  her  hands  under  her  neck,  turned  over  and 
closed  her  eyes. 

Sleep  ? — with  every  pulse  awake  and  throbbing,  every 
heart-beat  sending  the  young  blood  rushing  out  through 
a  body  the  incarnation  of  youth  and  life  itself!  There 
was  a  faint  flush  in  the  hollow  of  each  upturned  palm, 
where  the  fingers  like  relaxed  petals  curled  inward; 
a  deepening  tint  in  the  parted  lips;  and  under  the 
lids,  through  the  dusk  of  the  lashes,  a  glimmer  of 
blue. 

Lying  there,  veiled  gaze  conscious  of  the  rose-light 
which  glowed  and  waned  on  the  ceiling,  she  awaited  the 
flowing  tide  on  which  so  often  she  had  embarked  and 
drifted  out  into  that  golden  gloom  serene,  where,  spirit 
becalmed,  Time  and  Grief  faded,  and  Desire  died  out 
upon  the  unshadowed  sea  of  dreams. 

It  is  long  waiting  for  the  tide  when  the  wakeful 
heart  beats  loudly,  when  the  pulses  quicken  at  a  mem 
ory,  and  the  thousand  idle  little  cellules  of  the  brain, 
long  sealed,  long  unused,  and  consigned  to  the  archives 
of  What  Is  Ended,  open  one  by  one,  releasing  each  its 
own  forgotten  ghost. 

And  how  can  the  heart  rest,  the  pulse  sleep,  startled 
to  a  flutter,  as  one  by  the  the  tiny  cells  unclose  un 
bidden,  and  the  dead  remembrance,  from  its  cerements 
freed,  brightens  to  life? 

Words  he  had  used,  the  idle  lifting  of  his  head,  the 
forgotten  inflection  of  his  voice,  the  sunlight  on  his 
hair  and  the  sea-wind  stirring  it ;  his  figure  as  it  turned 
to  move  away,  the  half-caught  echo  of  his  laugh,  faint, 
faint! — so  that  her  own  ears,  throbbing,  strained  to 
listen;  the  countless  unimportant  moments  she  had 
thought  unmarked,  yet  carefully  stored  up,  without  her 
knowledge,  in  the  magic  cellules  of  her  brain — all,  all 

346 


THE   CALL   OF   THE   RAIN 

were  coming  back  to  life,  more  and  more  distinct,  start- 
lingly  clear. 

And  she  lay  like  one  afraid  to  move,  lest  her  stir 
ring  waken  a  vague  something  that  still  slept,  some 
thing  she  dared  not  arouse,  dared  not  meet  face  to 
face,  even  in  dreams.  An  interval — perhaps  an  hour, 
perhaps  a  second — passed,  leaving  her  stranded  so  close 
to  the  shoals  of  slumber  that  sleep  passed  only  near 
enough  to  awaken  her. 

The  room  was  very  sti'Il  and  dim,  but  the  clamour  in 
her  brain  unnerved  her,  and  she  sat  up  among  the 
cushions,  looking  vacantly  about  her  with  the  blue,  con 
fused  eyes,  the  direct,  unseeing  gaze  of  a  child  roused 
by  a  half-heard  call. 

The  call — low,  imperative,  sustained — continued 
softly  persistent  against  her  windows — the  summons  of 
the  young  year's  rain. 

She  went  to  the  window  and  stood  among  the  filmy 
curtains,  looking  out  into  the  mist;  a  springlike  aroma 
penetrated  the  room.  She  opened  the  window  a  little 
way,  and  the  sweet,  virile  odour  enveloped  her. 

A  thousand  longings  rose  within  her;  unnumbered 
wistful  questions  stirred  her,  sighing,  unanswered. 

Aware  that  her  lips  were  moving  unconsciously,  she 
listened  to  the  words  forming  automatic  repetitions  of 
phrases  long  forgotten: 

"  And  those  that  look  out  of  the  windows  be 
darkened,  And  the  door  shall  be  shut  in  the  streets." 

What  was  it  she  was  repeating? 

"  Also  they  shall  be  afraid  of  that  which  is  high, 
and  fear  shall  be  in  the  way." 

What  echo  of  the  past  was  this? 

"...  And  desire  shall  fail :  because " 

Intent,  absorbed  in  retracing  the  forgotten  sequence 
347 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

to  its  source,  she  stood,  breathing  the  thickening  incense 
of  the  rain ;  and  every  breath  was  drawing  her  backward, 
nearer,  nearer  to  the  source  of  memory.  Ah,  the  cliff 
chapel  in  the  rain ! — the  words  of  a  text  mumbled  deafly 
— the  yearly  service  for  those  who  died  at  sea !  And 
she,  seated  there  in  the  chapel  dusk  thinking  of  him 
who  sat  beside  her,  and  how  he  feared  a  heavier, 
stealthier,  more  secret  tide  crawling,  purring  about  his 
feet! 

Enftn!  Always,  always  at  the  end  of  everything,  He ! 
Always,  reckoning  step  by  step,  backward  through  time, 
He !  the  source,  the  inception,  the  meaning  of  all ! 

Unmoored  at  last,  her  spirit  swaying,  enveloped  in 
memories  of  him,  she  gave  herself  to  the  flood — over 
whelmed,  as  tide  on  tide  rose,  rushing  over  her — body, 
mind,  and  soul. 

She  closed  her  eyes,  leaning  there  heavily  amid  the 
cloudy  curtains ;  she  moved  back  into  the  room  and 
stood  staring  at  space  through  wet  lashes.  The  hard, 
dry  pulse  in  her  throat  hurt  her  till  her  under  lip,  freed 
from  the  tyranny  of  her  small  teeth,  slipped  free, 
quivering  rebellion. 

She  had  been  walking  her  room  to  and  fro,  to  and 
fro,  for  a  long  time  before  she  realised  that  she  had 
moved  at  all. 

And  now,  impulse  held  the  helm ;  a  blind,  unreason 
ing  desire  for  relief  hurried  into  action  on  the  wings 
of  impulse. 

There  was  a  telephone  at  her  elbow.  No  need  to 
hunt  through  lists  to  find  a  number  she  had  known  so 
long  by  heart — the  three  figures  which  had  reiterated 
themselves  so  often,  monotonously  insistent,  slyly  per 
suasive;  repeating  themselves  even  in  her  dreams,  so 
that  she  awoke  at  times  shivering  with  the  vision  in  which 

348 


THE   CALL   OF    THE   RAIN 

she  had  listened  to  temptation,  and  had  called  to  him 
across  the  wilderness  of  streets  and  men. 

"Is  he  at  home?" 

«  _  I  5> 

"  Would  you  ask  him  to  come  to  the  telephone?  " 


"  Please  say  to  him  that  it  is  a  —  a  friend.  .  .  . 
Thank  you." 

In  the  throbbing  quiet  of  her  room  she  heard  the 
fingers  of  the  prying  rain  busy  at  her  windows  ;  the 
ticking  of  the  small  French  clock,  very  dull,  very  far 
away  —  or  was  it  her  heart  ?  And,  faintly  ringing  in  the 
receiver  pressed  against  her  ear,  millions  of  tiny  stir 
rings,  sounds  like  instruments  of  an  elfin  orchestra 
tuning,  echoes  as  of  steps  passing  through  the  halls 
of  fairy-land,  a  faint  confusion  of  human-like  tones; 
then: 

"Who  is  it?" 

Her  voice  left  her  for  an  instant  ;  her  dry  lips  made 
no  answer. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  he  repeated  in  his  steady,  pleasant 
voice. 

"  It  is  I." 

There  was  absolute  silence  —  so  long  that  it  frightened 
her.  But  before  she  could  speak  again  his  voice  was 
sounding  in  her  ears,  patient,  unconvinced: 

"  I  don't  recognise  your  voice.  Who  am  I  speaking 
to?" 

"  Sylvia." 

There  was  no  response,  and  she  spoke  again  : 

"  I  only  wanted  to  say  good  morning.  It  is  after 
noon  now;  is  it  too  late  to  say  good  morning?  " 

"  No.     I'm  badly  rattled.     Is  it  you,  Sylvia?  " 
349 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  Indeed  it  is.  I  am  in  my  own  room.  I — I 
thought " 

"  Yes,  I  am  listening." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  did  think.  Is  it  necessary  for 
me  to  telephone  you  a  minute  account  of  the  mental 
processes  which  ended  by  my  calling  you  up — out  of 
the  vasty  deep?  " 

The  old  ring  in  her  voice  hinting  of  the  laughing 
undertone,  the  same  trailing  sweetness  of  inflection — 
could  he  doubt  his  senses  any  longer? 

"  I  know  you,  now,"  he  said. 

"  I  should  think  you  might.  I  should  very  much 
like  to  know  how  you  are — if  you  don't  mind  saying?  " 

"  Thank  you.  I  seem  to  be  all  right.  Are  you 
all  right,  Sylvia?" 

"  Shamefully  and  outrageously  well.  What  a  sea 
son,  too!  Everybody  else  is  in  rags — make-up  rags! 
Isn't  that  a  disagreeable  remark?  But  I'll  come  to  the 
paint-brush  too,  of  course.  .  .  .  We  all  do.  .  .  . 
Doesn't  anybody  ever  see  you  any  more?  " 

She  heard  him  laugh  to  himself  unpleasantly ;  then : 
"  Does  anybody  want  to  ?  " 

"  Everybody,  of  course !  You  know  it.  You  always 
were  spoiled  to  death." 

"  Yes— to  death." 

"  Stephen !  " 

"Yes?" 

"  Are  you  becoming  cynical  ?  " 

"I?    Why  should  I?" 

"  You  are !  Stop  it !  Mercy  on  us !  If  that  is  what 
is  going  on  in  a  certain  house  on  lower  Fifth  Avenue, 
facing  the  corner  of  certain  streets,  it's  time  somebody 
dropped  in  to " 

"  To— what?  " 

350 


THE   CALL   OF   THE   RAIN 

"  To  the  rescue !  I've  a  mind  to  do  it  myself.  They 
say  you  are  not  well,  either." 

"Who  says  that?" 

"  Oh,  the  usual  little  ornithological  cockatrice — or, 
rather,  cantatrice.  Don't  ask  me,  because  I  won't  tell 
you.  I  always  tell  you  too  much,  anyway.  Don't  I?  " 

"Do  you?" 

"  Of  course  I  do.  Everybody  spoils  you  and  so 
do  I." 

"  Yes — I  am  rather  in  that  way,  I  suppose." 

"What  way?" 

"  Oh— spoiled." 

"Stephen!" 

"Yes?" 

And  in  a  lower  voice :  "  Please  don't  say  such  things 
— will  you?  " 

"  No." 

"  Especially  to  me." 

"  Especially  to  you.     No,  I  won't,  Sylvia." 

And,  after  a  hesitation,  she  continued  sweetly : 

"  I  wonder  what  you  were  doing,  all  alone  in  that 
old  house  of  yours,  when  I  called  you  up?  " 

"  I  ?  Let  me  see.  Oh,  I  was  superintending  some 
packing." 

"  Are  you  going  off  somewhere?  " 

"  I  think  so." 

"Where?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Sylvia." 

"  Stephen,  how  absurd !  You  must  know  where  you 
are  going!  If  you  mean  that  you  don't  care  to  tell 
me " 

"  I  mean— that." 

"  I  decline  to  be  snubbed.  I'm  shameless,  and  I  wish 
to  be  informed.  Please  tell  me." 

351 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  I'd  rather  not  tell  you." 

"  Very  well.  .  .  .  Good-bye.  .  .  .  But  don't  ring 
off  just  yet,  Stephen.  .  .  .  Do  you  think  that,  sometime, 
you  would  care  to  see — any  people — I  mean  when  you 
begin  to  go  out  again?  " 

"Who,  for  example?" 

"Why,  anybody?" 

"  No ;  I  don't  think  I  should  care  to." 

"  I  wish  you  would  care  to.  It  is  not  well  to  let  go 
every  tie,  drop  everybody  so  completely.  No  man  can 
do  that  to  advantage.  It  would  be  so  much  better 
for  you  to  go  about  a  bit — see  and  be  seen,  you  know ; 
just  to  meet  a  few  people  informally;  go  to  see  some 
pretty  girl  you  know  well  enough  to — to " 

"  To  what?    Make  love  to?  " 

"  That  would  be  very  good  for  you,"  she  said. 

"  But  not  for  the  pretty  girl.  Besides,  I'm  rather 
too  busy  to  go  about,  even  if  I  were  inclined  to." 

"  Are  you  really  busy,  Stephen?  " 

"  Yes — waiting.  That  is  the  very  hardest  sort  of 
occupation.  And  I'm  obliged  to  be  on  hand  every 
minute." 

"  But  you  said  that  you  were  going  out  of  town." 

"  Did  I?  Well,  I  did  not  say  it,  exactly,  but  I  am 
going  to  leave  town." 

"  For  very  long?  "  she  asked. 

"  Perhaps.    I  can't  tell  yet." 

"  Stephen,  before  you  go — if  you  are  going  for  a 
very,  very  long  while — perhaps  you  will — you  might 
care  to  say  good-bye  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  it  best?  " 

"  No,"  she  said  innocently ;  "  but  if  you  care  to " 

"  Do  you  care  to  have  me?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do." 


THE   CALL   OF   THE   BAIN 

There  was  a  silence ;  and  when  his  voice  sounded  again 
it  had  altered: 

"  I  do  not  think  you  would  care  to  see  me,  Sylvia. 
I — they  say  I  am — I  have — changed — since  my — since  a 
slight  illness.  I  am  not  over  it  yet,  not  cured — not 
very  well  yet ;  and  a  little  tired,  you  see — a  little  shaken. 
I  am  leaving  New  York  to — to  try  once  more  to  be 
cured.  I  expect  to  be  well — one  way  or  another " 

"  Stephen,  where  are  you  going?     Answer  me!  " 

"  I  can't  answer  you." 

"  Is  your  illness  serious  ?  " 

"  A — it  is — it  requires  some — some  care." 

Her  fingers  tightening  around  the  receiver  whitened 
to  the  delicate  nails  under  the  pressure.  Mute,  strug 
gling  with  the  mounting  impulse,  voice  and  lip  un 
steady,  she  still  spoke  with  restraint: 

"  You  say  you  require  care?  And  what  care  have 
you  ?  Who  is  there  with  you  ?  Answer  me !  " 

"  Why — everybody ;  the  servants.  I  have  care 
enough." 

"  Oh,  the  servants !  Have  you  a  physician  to  advise 
you?" 

"  Certainly — the  best  in  the  world.  Sylvia,  dea — , 
Sylvia,  I  didn't  mean  to  give  you  an  impression " 

"  Stephen,  I  will  have  you  truthful  with  me !  I  know 
perfectly  well  you  are  ill.  I — if  I  could  only — if  there 
was  something,  some  way —  Listen :  I  am — I  am  going 
to  do  something  about  it,  and  I  don't  care  very  much 
what  I  do !  " 

"  What  sweet  nonsense !  "  he  laughed,  but  his  voice 
was  no  steadier  than  hers. 

"  Will  you  drive  with  me  ?  "  she  asked  impulsively, 
"  some  afternoon " 

"  Sylvia,  dear,  you  don't  really  want  me  to  do  it. 
353 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Wait,  listen:  I — I've  got  to  tell  you  that — that  I'm  not 
fit  for  it.  I've  got  to  be  honest  with  you ;  I  am  not  fit, 
not  in  physical  condition  to  go  out  just  yet.  I've  really 
been  ill — for  weeks.  Plank  has  been  very  nice  to  me. 
I  want  to  get  well;  I  mean  to  try  very  hard.  But 
the  man  you  knew — is — changed." 

"Changed?" 

"  Not  in  that  way ! "  he  said  in  a  slow  voice. 

"  H-how,  then  ?  "  she  stammered,  all  a-thrill. 

"  Nerve  gone — almost.  Going  to  get  it  back  again, 
of  course.  Feel  a  million  times  better  already  for  talk 
ing  with  you." 

"  Do — does  it  really  help?  " 

"  It's  the  only  panacea  for  me,"  he  said  too  quickly 
to  consider  his  words. 

"  The  only  one?  "  she  faltered.  "  Do  you  mean  to 
say  that  your  trouble — illness — has  anything  to  do 
with " 

"No,  no!     I  only " 

"Has  it,  Stephen?" 

"No!" 

"  Because,  if  I  thought " 

"  Sylvia,  I'm  not  that  sort !  You  mustn't  talk  to 
me  that  way.  There's  nothing  to  be  sorry  for  about 
me.  Any  man  may  lose  his  nerve,  and,  if  he  is  a  man, 
go  after  it  and  get  it  back  again.  Every  man  has  a 
fighting  chance.  You  said  it  yourself  once — that  a  man 
mustn't  ask  for  a  fighting  chance ;  he  must  take  it.  And 
I'm  going  to  take  it  and  win  out  one  way  or  another." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  another,'  Stephen?  " 

"  I—     Nothing.     It's  a  phrase." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?     Answer  me !  " 

"  It's  a  phrase,"  he  said  again ;  "  no  meaning,  you 
know." 

354 


THE   CALL   OF   THE   BAIN 

"  Stephen,  Mr.  Plank  says  that  you  are  lame." 

"  What  did  he  say  that  for?  "  demanded  Siward 
wrathfully. 

"  I  asked  him.  Kemp  saw  you  on  crutches  at  your 
window.  So  I  asked  Mr.  Plank,  and  he  said  you  had 
discarded  your  crutches  too  soon  and  had  fallen  and 
lamed  yourself  again.  Are  you  able  to  walk  yet?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course." 

"  Outdoors?  " 

"  A — no,  not  just  yet." 

"  In  other  words,  you  are  practically  bedridden." 

"  No,  no !  I  can  get  about  the  room  very  well." 

"  You  couldn't  go  down-stairs — for  an  hour's  drive, 
could  you?  " 

"  Can't  manage  that  for  awhile,"  he  said  hastily. 

"  Oh,  the  vanity  of  you,  Stephen  Siward !  the  vanity ! 
Ashamed  to  let  me  see  you  when  you  are  not  your 
complete  and  magnificently  attractive  self !  Silly,  I  shall 
see  you!  I  shall  drive  down  on  the  first  sunny  morn 
ing  and  sit  outside  in  my  victoria  until  you  can't  stand 
the  temptation  another  instant.  I'm  going  to  do  it. 
You  cannot  stop  me;  nobody  can  stop  me.  I  desire 
to  do  it,  and  that  is  sufficient,  I  think,  for  everybody 
concerned.  If  the  sun  is  out  to-morrow,  I  shall  be  out 
too !  .  .  .  I  am  so  tired  of  not  seeing  you !  Let  central 
listen!  I  don't  care.  I  don't  care  what  I  am  saying. 
I've  endured  it  so  long — I —  There's  no  use!  I  am 
too  tired  of  it,  and  I  want  to  see  you.  .  .  .  Can't  we 
see  each  other  without — without — thinking  about  things 
that  are  settled  once  and  for  all?  " 

"  I  can't,"  he  said. 

"  Then  you'd  better  learn  to !  Because,  if  you  think 
I'm  going  through  life  without  seeing  you  frequently 
you  are  simple!  I've  stood  it  too  long  at  a  time.  I 

355 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

won't  go  through  this  sort  of  thing  again !  You'd  bet 
ter  be  amiable;  you'd  better  be  civil  to  me,  or — or — 
nobody  on  earth  can  tell  what  will  happen !  The  idea  of 
you  telling  me  you  had  lost  your  nerve!  You've  got 
to  get  it  back — and  help  me  find  mine!  Yes,  it's  gone, 
gone,  gone !  I  lost  it  in  the  rain,  somewhere,  to-day. 
.  .  .  Does  the  scent  of  the  rain  come  in  at  your  win 
dow?  .  .  .  Do  you  remember —  There!  I  can't  say  it. 
.  .  .  Good-bye.  Good-bye.  You  must  get  well  .  .  . 
and  I  must,  too.  Good-bye." 

The  fruit  of  her  imprudence  was  happiness — an  ex 
cited  happiness,  which  lasted  for  a  day.  The  rain 
lasted,  too,  for  another  day,  then  turned  to  snow, 
choking  the  city  with  such  a  fall  as  had  not  been  seen 
since  the  great  blizzard — blocking  avenues,  barricading 
cross-streets,  burying  squares  arid  circles  and  parks,  and 
still  falling,  drifting,  whirling  like  wind-whipped  smoke 
from  cornice  and  roof-top.  The  electric  cars  halted; 
even  the  great  snow-ploughs  roared  impotent  amid  the 
snowy  wastes ;  waggons  floundered  into  cross-streets  and 
stuck  until  dug  out;  and  everywhere,  in  the  thickening 
obscurity,  battalions  of  emergency  men  with  pick  and 
shovel  struggled  with  the  drifts  in  Fifth  Avenue  and 
Broadway.  Then  the  storm  ended  at  daybreak. 

All  day  long  squadrons  of  white  gulls  wheeled  and 
sailed  in  the  sky  above  the  snowy  expanse  of  park  where 
the  great,  rectangular  sheets  of  water  glimmered  black 
in  their  white  setting.  As  she  sat  at  her  desk  she  could 
see  them  drifting  into  and  out  of  the  gray  squares  of 
sky  framed  by  her  window-panes.  Two  days  ago  she 
had  seen  them  stemming  the  sky  blasts,  heralding  the 
coming  of  unfelt  tempests,  flapping  steadily  through  the 
fragrant  rain.  Now,  the  false  phantom  which  had 

356 


THE   CALL   OF   THE   RAIN 

mimicked  spring  turned  on  the  world  the  glassy  glare 
of  winter,  stupefying  hope,  stunning  desire,  clogging 
the  life  essence  in  all  young,  living  things.  The  first 
vague  summons,  the  restlessness  of  awakening  aspira 
tion,  the  first  delicate,  indrawn  breath,  were  stilled  to 
deathly  immobility. 

Sylvia,  at  her  escritoire,  chin  cradled  in  her  hollowed 
hand,  sat  listlessly  inspecting  her  mail — the  usual  pile 
of  bills  and  advertisements,  social  demands  and  interested 
appeals,  with  here  and  there  a  frivolous  note  from  some 
intimate  to  punctuate  the  endless  importunities. 

Her  housekeeper  had  come  and  gone;  the  Belwether 
establishment  could  jog  through  another  day.  Various 
specialists,  who  cared  for  the  health  and  beauty  of  her 
body,  had  entered  and  made  their  unctuous  exits.  The 
major  had  gone  to  Tuxedo  for  the  week's  end;  her  maid 
had  bronchitis ;  two  horses  required  the  veterinary,  and 
the  kitchen  range  a  new  water-back. 

Cards  had  come  for  the  Caithness  function;  cards 
for  young  Austin  Wadsworth's  wedding  to  a  Charleston 
girl  of  rumoured  beauty ;  Caragnini  was  to  sing  for  Mrs. 
Vendenning;  a  live  llama,  two-legged,  had  consented  to 
undermine  Christianity  for  Mrs.  Pyne- Johnson  and  her 
guests. 

"  Would  Sylvia  be  ready  for  the  inspection  of  im 
ported  head-gears  to  harmonise  with  the  gowns  being 
built  by  Constantine? 

«  When 

"  Would  she  receive  the  courteous  agent  of  "  The 
Reigning  Beauties  of  Manhattan,"  to  arrange  for  her 
portrait  and  biographical  sketch? 

«  When 

"  Would  she  realise  that  Jefferson  B.  Doty  could  turn 
earth  into  heaven  for  any  young  chatelaine  by  affixing 

357 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

to  the  laundry  his  anti-microbe  drying  machine  emitting 
sixty  sterilised  hot-air  blasts  in  thirty  seconds,  at  a  cost 
of  one-tenth  of  one  mill  per  blast? 

"  And  when " 

But  she  turned  her  head,  looking  wearily  across  the 
room  at  the  brightly  burning  fire  beside  which  Mrs. 
Ferrall  sat,  nibbling  mint-paste,  very  serious  over  one  of 
those  books  that  "  everybody  was  reading." 

"  How  far  have  you  read?  "  inquired  Sylvia  without 
interest,  turning  over  a  new  letter  to  cut  with  her  paper- 
knife. 

Grace  ruffled  the  uncut  pages  of  her  book  without 
looking  up,  then  yawned  shamelessly:  "  She's  decided 
to  try  living  with  him  for  awhile,  and  if  they  find 
life  agreeable  she'll  marry  him.  .  .  .  Pleasant  situa 
tion,  isn't  it?  Nice  book,  very ;  and  they  say  that  some 
body  is  making  a  play  of  it.  I  " —  She  yawned  again, 
showing  her  small,  brilliant  teeth — "  I  wonder  what  sort 
of  people  write  these  immoral  romances ! " 

"  Probably  immoral  people,"  said  Sylvia  indiffer 
ently.  "  Drop  it  on  the  coals,  Grace." 

But  Mrs.  Ferrall  reopened  the  book  where  she  had 
laid  her  finger  to  mark  the  place.  "  Do  you  think  so?  " 
she  asked. 

"Think  what?" 

"  That  rotten  books  and  plays  come  from  morally 
rotten  people?  " 

"  I  don't  think  about  it  at  all,"  observed  Sylvia, 
opening  another  letter  impatiently. 

"  You're  probably  not  very  literary,"  said  Grace 
mischievously. 

"  Not  in  that  way,  I  suppose." 

Mrs.  Ferrall  took  another  bonbon :  "  Did  you  see 
*  Mrs.  Lane's  Experiment '  ?  " 

358 


THE   CALL   OF   THE   RAIN 

"  I  did,"  said  Sylvia,  looking  up,  the  pink  creeping 
into  her  cheeks. 

"  You  thought  it  very  strong,  I  suppose?  "  asked 
Grace  innocently. 

"  I  thought  it  incredible." 

"  But,  dear,  it  was  sheer  realism !  Why  blink  at 
truth?  And  when  an  author  has  the  courage  to  tell 
facts  why  not  have  the  courage  to  applaud?  " 

"  If  that  is  truth,  it  doesn't  concern  me,"  said  Syl 
via.  "  Grace,  why  will  you  pose,  even  if  you  are  mar 
ried  ?  for  you  have  a  clean  mind,  and  you  know  it !  " 

"  I  know  it,"  sighed  Mrs.  Ferrall,  closing  her  book 
again,  but  keeping  the  place  with  her  finger;  "  and 
that's  why  I'm  so  curious  about  all  these  depraved  peo 
ple.  I  can't  understand  why  writers  have  not  found 
out  that  we  women  are  instinctively  innocent,  even  after 
we  are  obliged  to  make  our  morality  a  profession  and 
our  innocence  an  art.  They  all  hang  their  romances  to 
motives  that  no  woman  recognises  as  feminine;  they  as 
cribe  to  us  instincts  which  we  do  not  possess,  passions 
of  which  we  are  ignorant — a  ridiculous  moral  turpitude 
in  the  overmastering  presence  of  love.  Pooh !  If  they 
only  knew  what  a  small  part  love  plays  with  us,  after 
all!" 

Sylvia  said  slowly :  "  It  sometimes  plays  a  small 
part,  after  all." 

"  Always,"  insisted  Grace  with  emphasis.  "  No 
carefully  watched  girl  knows  what  it  is,  whatever  her 
suspicions  may  be.  When  she  marries,  if  she  doesn't 
marry  from  family  pressure  or  from  her  own  motives 
of  common-sense  ambition,  she  marries  because  she  likes 
the  man,  not  because  she  loves  him." 

Sylvia  was  silent. 

"  Because,  even  if  she  wanted  to  love  him,"  continued 
24  359 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Grace,  "  she  would  not  know  how.  It's  the  ingrained 
innocence  which  men  encounter  that  they  don't  allow  for 
or  understand  in  us.  Even  after  we  are  married,  and 
whether  or  not  we  learn  to  love  our  husbands,  it  remains 
part  of  us  as  an  educated  instinct;  and  it  takes  all  the 
scientific,  selfish  ruthlessness  of  a  man  to  break  it  down. 
That's  why  I  say  so  few  among  us  ever  comprehend  the 
motives  attributed  to  us  in  romance  or  in  that  parody 
of  it  called  realism.  Love  is  rarer  with  us  than  men 
could  ever  believe — and  I'm  glad  of  it,"  she  said  mali 
ciously,  with  a  final  snap  of  her  pretty  teeth. 

"  It  was  on  that  theory  you  advised  me,  I  think," 
said  Sylvia,  looking  into  the  fire. 

"Advised  you,  child?" 

"  Yes — about  accepting  Howard." 

"  Certainly.  Is  it  not  a  sound  theory?  Doesn't  it 
stand  inspection?  Doesn't  it  wear?  " 

"  It — wears,"  said  Sylvia  indifferently. 

Grace  looked  up  from  her  open  book.  "  Is  anything 
amiss  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Of  course  you  know,  child.  What  is  wrong?  Has 
Howard  made  himself  insufferable?  He's  a  master  at 
it.  Has  he?" 

"  No ;  I  don't  remember  that  he  has.  .  .  .  I'm  tired, 
physically.  I'm  tired  of  the  winter." 

"  Go  to  Florida  for  Lent." 

"  Horror !  It's  as  stupid  as  a  hothouse.  It  isn't 
that,  either,  dear — only,  when  it  was  raining  so  deliciously 
the  other  day  I  was  silly  enough  to  think  I  scented  the 
spring  in  the  park.  I  was  glad  of  a  change  you  know 
— any  excuse  to  stop  this  eternal  carnival  I  live  in." 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Ferrall, 
withdrawing  her  finger  from  the  pages  and  plumping 

360 


THE   CALL   OF   THE   RAIN 

the  closed  book  down  on  her  knee.  "  You'd  better  tell 
me,  Sylvia;  you  might  just  as  well  tell  me  now  as  later 
when  my  persistence  has  vexed  us  both.  Now,  what  has 
happened  ?  " 

"  I  have  been — imprudent,"  said  Sylvia,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  You  mean," — Mrs.  Ferrall  looked  at  her  keenly — 
"that  he  has  been  here?" 

"  No.  I  telephoned  him ;  and  I  asked  him  to  drive 
with  me." 

"  Oh,  Sylvia,  what  nonsense !  Why  on  earth  do  you 
stir  yourself  up  by  that  sort  of  silliness  at  this  late 
date?  What  use  is  it?  Can't  you  let  him  alone?  " 

"  I —  No,  I  can't,  it  seems.  Grace,  I  was — I  felt 
so — so  strangely  about  it  all." 

"  About  what,  little  idiot?  " 

"  About  leaving  him — alone." 

"  Are  you  Stephen  Siward's  keeper? "  demanded 
Mrs.  Ferrall,  exasperated. 

"  I  felt  as  though  I  were,  for  awhile.     He  is  ill." 

"  With  an  illness  that,  thank  God,  you  are  not  go 
ing  to  nurse  through  life.  Don't  look  at  me  that  way, 
dear.  I'm  obliged  to  speak  harshly;  I'm  obliged  to 
harden  my  heart  to  such  a  monstrous  idea.  You  know 
I  love  you ;  you  know  I  care  deeply  for  that  poor  boy — 
but  do  you  think  I  could  be  loyal  to  either  of  you  and  not 
say  what  I  do  say?  He  is  doomed,  as  sure  as  you  sit 
there !  He  has  fallen,  and  no  one  can  help  him.  Link 
after  link  he  has  broken  with  his  own  world ;  his  master- 
vice  holds  him  faster,  closer,  more  absolutely,  than  hell 
ever  held  a  lost  soul !  " 

"  Grace,  I  cannot  endure " 

"  You  must !  Are  you  trying  to  drug  your  silly 
self  with  romance  so  you  won't  recognise  truth  when 

361 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

you  see  it?  Are  you  drifting  back  into  old  impulses, 
unreasoning  whims  of  caprice?  Have  you  forgotten 
what  I  know  of  you,  and  what  you  know  of  yourself? 
Is  the  taint  of  your  transmitted  inheritance  beginning 
to  show  in  you — the  one  woman  of  your  race  who  is  fash 
ioned  to  withstand  it  and  stamp  it  out?  " 

"  I  am  mistress  of  my  emotions,"  said  Sylvia,  flush 
ing. 

"  Then  suppress  them,"  retorted  Grace  Ferrall 
hotly,  "  before  they  begin  to  bully  you.  There  was  no 
earthly  reason  for  you  to  talk  to  Stephen.  No  disin 
terested  impulse  moved  you.  It  was  a  sheer  perverse, 
sentimental  restlessness — the  delicate,  meddlesome  devil 
try  of  your  race.  And  if  that  poison  is  in  you,  it's 
well  for  you  to  know  it." 

"  It  is  in  me,"  said  Sylvia,  staring  at  the  fire. 

"  Then  you  know  what  to  do  for  it." 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"Well,  I  do,"  said  Grace  decisively;  "and  the 
sooner  you  marry  Howard  and  intrench  yourself  be 
hind  your  pride,  the  better  off  you'll  be.  That's  where, 
fortunately  enough,  you  differ  from  your  ancestors  ;  you 
are  unable  to  understand  marital  treachery.  Otherwise 
you'd  make  it  lively  for  us  all." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Sylvia  deliberately,  "  that  I  could 
not  be  treacherous  to  anybody.  But  I  am  wondering; 
I  am  asking  myself  just  what  constitutes  treachery  to 
myself." 

"  Sentimentalising  over  Stephen  might  fill  the  bill," 
observed  Grace  tartly. 

"  But  it  doesn't  seem  to,"  mused  Sylvia,  her  blue 
gaze  on  the  coals.  "  That  is  what  I  do  not  understand. 
I  have  no  conscience  concerning  what  I  feel  for  him." 

"What  do  you  feel?" 


THE   CALL   OF   THE   RAIN 

"  I  was  in  love  with  him.  You  knew  it." 
"  You  liked  him,"  insisted  Grace  patiently. 
"  No — loved  him.  /  know.  Dear,  your  theories  are 
sound  in  a  general  way,  but  what  is  a  girl  going  to  do 
about  it  when  she  loves  a  man?  You  say  a  young  girl 
can't  love — doesn't  know  how.  But  I  do  love,  though 
it  is  true  that  I  don't  know  how  to  love  very  wisely. 
What  is  the  use  in  denying  it?  This  winter  has  been 
a  deafening,  stupefying  fever  to  me.  The  sheer  noise 
of  it  stunned  me  until  I  forgot  how  I  did  feel  about 
anything.  Then — I  don't  know — somehow,  in  the  rain 
out  there,  I  began  to  wake  .  .  .  Dear,  the  old  instincts, 
the  old  desires,  the  old  truths,  came  back  out  of  chaos ; 
that  full  feeling  here  " — she  laid  her  fingers  on  her  throat 
— "  the  sense  of  expectancy,  the  restless  hope  growing 
out  of  torpid  acquiescence — all  returned;  and,  dearest, 
with  them  all  came  memories  of  him.  What  am  I  to  do  ? 
Could  you  tell  me?" 

For  a  long  while  Mrs.  Ferrall  sat  in  troubled  si 
lence,  her  hand  shading  her  eyes.  Sylvia,  leaning  over 
her  desk,  idling  with  pen  and  pencil,  looked  around 
from  time  to  time,  as  though  awaiting  the  opinion  of 
some  specialist  who,  in  full  possession  of  the  facts,  now 
had  become  responsible  for  the  patient. 

"  If  you  marry  him,"  said  Mrs.  Ferrall  quietly, 
"  your  life  will  become  a  hell." 

"  Yes.  But  would  it  make  life  any  easier  for  him?  " 
asked  Sylvia. 

"  How — to  know  that  you  had  been  dragged  down  ?  " 
"  No.     I  mean  could  I  do  anything  for  him?  " 
"  No  woman  ever  did.     That  is  a  sentimental  false 
hood  of  the  emotional.     No  woman  ever  did  help  a  man 
in  that  way.     Sylvia,  if  love  were  the  only  question,  and 
if  you  do  truly  love  him,  I — well,  I  suppose  I'd  be  fool 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

enough  to  advise  you  to  be  a  fool.  Even  then  you'd  be 
sorry.  You  know  what  your  future  may  be ;  you  know 
what  you  are  fitted  for.  What  can  you  do  without  How 
ard?  In  this  town  your  role  would  be  a  very  minor  one 
without  Howard's  money,  and  you  know  it." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it." 

"  And  your  sacrifice  could  not  help  that  doomed 
boy." 

Sylvia  nodded  assent. 

"  Then,  is  there  any  choice?  Is  there  any  question 
of  what  to  do?" 

Sylvia  looked  out  into  the  winter  sky,  through  the 
tops  of  snowy  trees ;  everywhere  the  stark,  deathly  rigid 
ity  of  winter.  Under  it,  frozen,  lay  the  rain  that  had 
scented  the  air.  Under  her  ambition  lay  the  ghosts  of 
yesterday. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  there  is  no  question  of  choice.  I 
know  what  must  be." 

Grace,  seated  in  the  firelight,  looked  up  as  Sylvia 
rose  from  her  desk  and  came  across  the  room ;  and  when 
she  sank  down  on  the  rug  at  her  feet,  resting  her  cheek 
against  the  elder  woman's  knees,  nothing  was  said  for 
a  long  time — a  time  of  length  sufficient  to  commit  a 
memory  to  its  grave,  lay  it  away  decently  and  in  quiet 
befitting. 

Sore  doubt  assailed  Grace  Ferrall,  guiltily  aware 
that  once  again  she  had  meddled ;  and  in  the  calm  tenor 
of  her  own  placid,  marital  satisfaction,  looking  backward 
along  the  pleasant  path  she  had  trodden  with  its  little 
monuments  to  love  at  decent  intervals  amid  the  agree 
able  monotony  of  content,  her  heart  and  conscience  mis 
gave  her  lest  she  had  counselled  this  young  girl  wrongly, 
committing  her  to  the  arid  lovelessness  which  she  herself 
had  never  known. 

364 


"  Nothing  was  said  for  a  long  time." 


THE   CALL   OF   THE   BAIN 

Leaning  there,  her  fingers  lingering  in  light  caress 
on  Sylvia's  bright  hair,  for  every  doubt  she  brought  up 
argument,  to  every  sentimental  wavering  within  her 
heart  she  opposed  the  chilling  reason  of  common  sense. 
Destruction  to  happiness  lay  in  Sylvia's  yielding  to  her 
caprice  for  Siward.  There  was  other  happiness  in  the 
world  besides  the  non-essential  one  of  love.  That  must 
be  Sylvia's  portion.  And  after  all — and  after  all,  love 
was  a  matter  of  degree ;  and  it  was  well  for  Sylvia  that 
she  had  the  malady  so  lightly — well  for  her  that  it  had 
advanced  so  little,  lest  she  suspect  what  its  crowning 
miracles  might  be  and  fall  sick  of  a  passion  for  what 
she  had  forever  lost. 

For  a  week  or  more  the  snow  continued ;  colder, 
gloomier  weather  set  in,  and  the  impending  menace  of 
Ash  Wednesday  redoubled  the  social  pace,  culminating 
in  the  Westervelt  ball  on  the  eve  of  the  forty  days. 
And  Sylvia  had  not  yet  seen  Siward  or  spoken  to  him 
again  across  the  wilderness  of  streets  and  men. 

In  the  first  relaxation  of  Lent  she  had  instinctively 
welcomed  an  opportunity  for  spiritual  consolation  and 
a  chance  to  take  her  spiritual  bearings ;  not  because  of 
bodily  fatigue — for  in  the  splendour  of  her  youthful 
vigour  she  did  not  know  what  that  meant. 

Saint  Berold  was  a  pretty  good  saint,  and  his  church 
was  patronised  by  Major  Belwether's  household.  The 
major  liked  two  things  high:  his  game  and  his  church. 
Sylvia  cared  for  neither,  but  had  become  habituated  to 
both  the  odours  of  sanctity  and  of  pheasants;  so  to 
Saint  Berold's  she  went  in  cure  of  her  soul.  Besides, 
she  was  fond  of  Father  Curtis,  who,  if  he  were  every 
inch  a  priest,  was  also  every  foot  of  his  six  feet  a  man — 
simple,  good,  and  brave. 

365 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

However,  she  found  little  opportunity,  save  at  her 
brief  confession,  for  a  word  with  Father  Curtis.  His 
days  were  full  days  to  the  overbrimming,  and  a  fash 
ionable  pack  was  ever  at  his  heels,  fawning  and  shoving 
and  importuning.  It  was  fashionable  to  adore  Father 
Curtis,  and  for  that  reason  she  shrank  from  venturing 
any  demand  upon  his  time,  and  nobody  else  at  Saint 
Berold's  appealed  to  her.  Besides,  the  music  was  hard, 
commonplace,  even  blatant  at  times,  and,  having  a  deli 
cate  ear,  she  shrank  from  this  also.  It  is  probable  then 
that  what  comfort  she  found  under  Saint  Berold's  big, 
brand-new  Episcopal  cross  she  extracted  from  observ 
ing  the  rites,  usages,  and  laws  of  a  creed  that  had  been 
accepted  for  her  by  that  Christian  gentleman,  Major 
Belwether.  Also,  she  may  have  found  some  solace  from 
the  still  intervals  devoted  to  an  inventory  of  her  sins 
and  the  wistful  searching  of  a  heart  too  young  for 
sadness.  If  she  did  it  was  her  own  affair,  not  Grace 
Ferrall's,  who  went  with  her  to  Saint  Berold's  deter 
mined  always  to  confess  to  too  much  gambling,  but  let 
ting  it  go  from  day  to  day  so  that  the  penance  could 
not  interfere  with  the  next  seance. 

Agatha  Caithness  was  there  a  great  deal,  looking 
like  a  saint  in  her  subdued  plumage;  and  very  devout, 
dodging  nothing — neither  confession  nor  Quarrier's  oc 
casionally  lifted  eyes,  though  their  gaze,  meeting,  seemed 
lost  in  dreamy  devotion  or  drowned  in  the  contempla 
tion  of  the  spiritual  and  remote. 

Plank  came  docilely  from  his  Dutch  Reformed 
church  to  sit  beside  Leila.  As  for  Mortimer,  once  a 
vestryman,  he  never  came  at  all — made  no  pretence  or 
profession  of  what  he  elegantly  expressed  as  "  caring 
a  damn  "  for  anything  "  in  the  church  line,"  though, 
he  added,  there  were  "  some  good  lookers  to  be  found 

366 


THE   CALL   OF   THE   RAIN 

in  a  few  synagogues."  His  misconception  of  the  at 
tractions  of  the  church  amused  the  new  set  of  men 
among  whom  he  had  recently  drifted,  to  the  unfeigned 
disgust  of  gentlemen  like  Major  Belwether;  "club" 
men,  in  the  commoner  and  more  sinister  interpretation  of 
the  word ;  unfit  men,  who  had  managed  to  slip  into  good 
clubs;  men,  once  fit,  who  had  deteriorated  to  the  verge 
of  ostracism ;  heavy,  over-fed,  idle,  insolent  men  in  ques 
tionable  financial  situation,  hard  card  players,  hard 
drinkers,  hard  riders,  negative  in  their  virtues,  merciless 
in  their  vices,  and  whose  cynical  misconduct  formed  the 
sources  of  the  stock  of  stories  told  where  such  men 
foregather. 

Mortimer  had  already  furnished  his  world  with  suf 
ficient  material  for  jests  of  that  flavour;  now  they  were 
telling  a  new  one:  how,  as  Leila  was  standing  before 
Tiffany's  looking  for  her  carriage,  a  masher  accosted 
her,  and,  at  her  haughty  stare,  said  sneeringly :  "  Oh, 
you  can't  play  that  game  on  me;  I've  seen  you  with 
Leroy  Mortimer ! " 

The  story  was  repeated  frequently  enough.  Leila 
heard  it  with  a  shrug;  but  such  things  mattered  to  her 
now,  and  she  cried  over  it  at  night,  burning  that  Plank 
should  hear  her  name  used  jestingly  to  emphasise  the 
depth  of  her  husband's  degradation. 

Mortimer  stayed  out  at  night  very  frequently  now. 
Also,  he  appeared  to  make  his  money  go  farther,  or  was 
luckier  at  his  "  card  killings,"  because  he  seldom  at 
tempted  to  bully  Leila,  being  apparently  content  with 
his  allowance. 

Once  or  twice  Plank  saw  him  with  an  unusually  at 
tractive  girl  belonging  to  a  world  very  far  removed 
from  Leila's.  Somebody  said  she  was  an  actress  when 
she  did  anything  at  all — one  Lydia  Vyse,  somewhat  cele- 

867 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

brated  for  an  audacity  not  too  delicate.  But  Plank  was 
no  more  interested  than  any  man  who  can't  afford  to 
endanger  his  prospects  by  a  closer  acquaintance  with  that 
sort  of  pretty  woman. 

Meanwhile  Mortimer  kept  away  from  home,  wife, 
and  church,  and  Plank  frequented  them,  so  the  two  men 
did  not  meet  very  often;  and  the  less  they  met  the  less 
they  found  to  say  to  one  another. 

Now  that  the  forty  days  had  really  begun,  Major 
Belwether  became  restless  for  the  flesh-pots  of  the  south, 
although  Lenten  duties  sat  lightly  enough  upon  the 
house  of  Belwether.  These  decent  observances  were  lim 
ited  to  a  lax  acknowledgment  of  fast  days,  church  in 
moderation,  and  active  participation  in  the  succession  of 
informal  affairs  calculated  to  sustain  life  in  those 
intellectually  atrophied  and  wealthy  people  entirely  de 
pendent  upon  others  for  their  amusements. 

To  these  people  no  fear  of  punishment  hereafter  can 
equal  the  terror  of  being  left  to  their  own  devices ;  and 
so,  though  the  opera  was  over,  theatres  unfashionable, 
formal  functions  suspended  and  dances  ended,  the  pace 
still  continued  at  a  discreet  and  decorous  trot ;  and  those 
who  had  not  fled  to  California  or  Palm  Beach,  remained 
to  pray  and  play  Bridge  with  an  unction  most  edifying. 

And  all  this  while  Sylvia  had  not  seen  Siward. 

Sylvia  was  changing.  The  characteristic  amiability, 
the  sensitive  reserve,  the  sweet  composure  which  the 
world  had  always  counted  on  in  her,  had  become  excep 
tions  and  no  longer  the  rules  which  governed  the  ca 
price  and  impulse  always  latent.  An  indifference  so 
pointed  as  to  verge  on  insolence  amazed  her  intimates  at 
times ;  a  sudden,  flushed  impatience  startled  the  habitues 
of  her  shrine.  There  was  a  new,  unseeing  hardness  in 
her  eyes;  in  her  attitude  the  faintest  hint  of  cynicism. 


THE   CALL   OF   THE   RAIN 

She  acquired  a  habit  of  doing  selfish  things  coldly,  in 
different  to  the  canons  of  the  art;  and  true  selfishness, 
the  most  delicate  of  all  the  arts,  requires  an  expert. 

That  which  had  most  charmed — her  unfeigned  pleas 
ure  in  pleasure,  her  unfailing  consideration  for  all,  her 
gentleness  with  ignorance,  her  generous  unconsciousness 
of  self — all  these  still  remained,  it  is  true,  though  no 
longer  characteristic,  no  longer  to  be  counted  on. 

For  the  first  time  a  slight  sense  of  fear  tinctured  the 
general  admiration. 

In  public  her  indifference  and  growing  impatience 
with  Quarrier  had  not  reached  the  verge  of  bad  taste, 
but  in  private  she  was  scarcely  at  pains  to  conceal  her 
weariness  and  inattention,  showing  him  less  and  less  of 
the  formal  consideration  which  had  been  their  only  me 
dium  of  coexistence.  That  he.  noticed  it  was  evident 
even  to  her  who  carelessly  ignored  the  consequences  of 
her  own  attitude. 

Once,  speaking  of  the  alterations  in  progress  at  The 
Sedges,  his  place  near  Oyster  Bay,  he  casually  asked 
her  opinion,  and  she  as  casually  observed  that  if  he  had 
an  opinion  about  anything  he  wouldn't  know  what  to  do 
with  it. 

Once,  too,  she  had  remarked  in  Quarrier's  hearing 
to  Ferrall,  who  was  complaining  about  the  loss  of  his 
hair,  that  a  hairless  head  was  a  visitation  from  Heaven, 
but  a  beard  was  a  man's  own  fault. 

Once  they  came  very  close  to  a  definite  rupture,  close 
enough  to  scare  her  after  all  the  heat  had  gone  out  of 
her  and  the  matter  was  ended.  Quarrier  had  lingered 
late  after  cards,  and  something  was  said  about  the  im 
pending  kennel  show  and  about  Marion  Page  judging 
the  English  setters. 

"  Agatha  tells  me  that  you  are  going  with  Marion," 
369 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

continued  Quarrier.  "  As  long  as  Marion  has  chosen 
to  make  herself  conspicuous  there  is  nothing  to  be  said. 
But  do  you  think  it  very  good  taste  for  you  to  figure 
publicly  on  the  sawdust  with  an  eccentric  girl  like 
Marion?  " 

"  I  see  nothing  conspicuous  about  a  girl's  judging 
a  few  dogs,"  said  Sylvia,  merely  from  an  irritable  de 
sire  to  contradict. 

"  It's  bad  taste  and  bad  form,"  remarked  Quarrier 
coldly ;  "  and  Agatha  thought  it  a  mistake  for  you  to 
go  there  with  her." 

"  Agatha's  opinions  do  not  concern  me." 

"  Perhaps  mine  may  have  some  weight." 

"  Not  the  slightest." 

He  said  patiently :  "  This  is  a  public  show ;  do  you 
understand?  Not  one  of  those  private  bench  exhibi 
tions." 

"  I  understand.  Really,  Howard,  you  are  insuffer 
able  at  times." 

"  Do  you  feel  that  way?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do.  I  am  sorry  to  be  rude,  but  I  do  feel 
that  way !  "  Flushed,  impatient,  she  looked  him  square 
ly  between  his  narrowing,  woman's  eyes :  "  I  do  not  care 
for  you  very  much,  Howard,  and  you  know  it.  I  am 
marrying  you  with  a  perfectly  sordid  motive,  and  you 
know  that,  too.  Therefore  it  is  more  decent — if  there  is 
any  decency  left  in  either  of  us — to  interfere  with  one  an 
other  as  little  as  possible,  unless  you  desire  a  definite 
rupture.  Do  you?  " 

"I?     A— a  rupture?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  hotly;  "do  you?" 

"Do  you,  Sylvia?" 

"  No ;  I'm  too  cowardly,  too  selfish,  too  treacherous 
to  myself.  No,  I  don't." 

370 


THE   CALL   OF   THE   RAIN 

"  Nor  do  I,"  he  said,  lifting  his  furtive  eyes. 

"  Very  well.  You  are  more  contemptible  than  I  am, 
that  is  all." 

Her  voice  had  grown  unsteady ;  an  unreasoning  rush 
of  anger  had  set  her  whole  body  a-thrill,  and  the  white 
heat  of  it  was  driving  her  to  provoke  him,  as  though 
that  might  cleanse  her  of  the  ignominy  of  the  bargain 
— as  though  a  bargain  did  not  require  two  of  the  same 
mind  to  make  it. 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me?  "  she  said,  still  stinging 
under  the  angry  waves  of  self -contempt.  "  What  are 
you  marrying  me  for?  Because,  divided,  we  are  likely 
to  cut  small  figures  in  our  tin-trumpet  world?  Because, 
united,  we  can  dominate  the  brainless?  Is  there  any 
other  reason  ?  " 

Showing  his  teeth  in  that  twitching  snicker  that  con 
tracted  the  muscles  of  his  upper  lip:  "Children!"  he 
said,  looking  at  her. 

She  turned  scarlet  to  her  hair;  the  deliberate  gross- 
ness  stunned  her.  Confused,  she  stood  confronting  him, 
dumb  under  a  retort  the  coarseness  of  which  she  had 
never  dreamed  him  capable. 

"  I  mean  what  I  say,"  he  repeated  calmly.  "  A  man 
cares  for  two  things:  his  fortune,  and  the  heirs  to  it. 
If  you  didn't  know  that  you  have  learned  it  now.  You 
hurt  me  deliberately.  I  told  you  a  plain  truth  very 
bluntly.  It  is  for  you  to  consider  the  situation." 

But  she  could  not  speak ;  anger,  humiliation,  shame, 
held  her  tongue-tied.  The  instinctive  revolt  at  the  vague 
horror  —  the  monstrous,  meaningless  threat  —  nothing 
could  force  words  from  her  to  repudiate,  to  deny  what 
he  had  dared  to  utter. 

Except  as  the  effrontery  of  brutality,  except  as  a 
formless  menace  born  of  his  anger,  the  reason  he  flung 

371 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

at  her  for  his  marrying  her  conveyed  nothing  to  her 
in  its  grotesque  impossibility.  Only  the  intentional 
coarseness  of  it  was  to  be  endured — if  she  chose  to 
endure  it;  for  the  rest  was  empty  of  concrete  meaning 
to  her. 

Lent  was  half  over  before  she  saw  him  again. 
Neither  he  nor  she  had  taken  any  steps  to  complete  the 
rupture;  and  at  the  Mi-careme  dance,  given  by  the 
Siowa  Hunt,  Quarrier,  who  was  M.  F.  H.,  took  up  the 
thread  of  their  suspended  intercourse  as  methodically 
and  calmly  as  though  it  had  never  quivered  to  the  break 
ing  point.  He  led  the  cotillon  with  agreeable  precision 
and  impersonal  accuracy,  favouring  her  at  intervals; 
and  though  she  wasted  no  favours  on  him,  she  endured 
his,  which  was  sufficient  evidence  that  matters  were  still 
in  statu  quo. 

She  returned  to  town  next  morning  with  Grace  Fer- 
rall,  irritable,  sulky,  furious  with  herself  at  the  cow 
ardly  relief  she  felt.  For,  spite  of  her  burning  anger 
against  Quarrier,  the  suspense  at  times  had  been  wear 
ing;  and  she  would  not  make  the  first  move — had  not 
decided  even  to  accept  his  move  if  it  came — at  least,  had 
not  admitted  to  herself  that  she  would  accept  it.  It 
had  come  and  the  tension  was  over,  and  now,  entering 
Mrs.  Ferrall's  brougham  which  met  them  at  Thirty- 
fourth  Street  Ferry,  she  was  furious  with  herself  for 
her  unfeigned  feeling  of  relief. 

All  hot  with  self-contempt  she  lay  back  in  the  com 
fortably  upholstered  corner  of  the  brougham,  staring 
straight  before  her,  sullen  red  mouth  unresponsive  to  the 
occasional  inconsequent  questions  cf  Grace  Ferrall. 

"  After  awhile,"  observed  Grace,  "  people  will  begin 
to  talk  about  the  discontented  beauty  of  your  face." 

372 


THE   CALL   OF   THE   RAIN 

Sylvia's  eyebrows  bent  still  farther  inward. 

"  A  fretful  face,  but  rather  pretty,"  commented 
Grace  maliciously.  "  It  won't  do,  dear.  Your  role  is 
dignified  comedy.  O  dear !  O  my ! "  She  stifled  a 
yawn  behind  her  faultlessly  gloved  hand.  "  I'm  feeling 
these  late  hours  in  my  aged  bones.  It  wasn't  much  of  a 
dance,  was  it?  Or  am  I  disillusioned?  Certainly  that 
Edgeworth  boy  fell  in  love  with  me — the  depraved  crea 
ture — trying  his  primitive  wiles  there  in  the  conserva 
tory  !  Little  beast !  There  are  no  nice  boys  any  more ; 
they're  all  too  young  or  too  sophisticated.  .  .  .  Howard 
does  lead  well,  I  admit  that.  .  .  .  You're  on  the  box  seat 
together  again  I  see.  Pooh !  I  wasn't  a  bit  alarmed." 

"  /  was,"  said  Sylvia,  curling  her  lip  in  biting  self- 
contempt. 

"  Well,  that's  a  wholesome  confession,  anyway.  O 
dear,  how  I  do  yawn!  and  Lent  only  half  over.  .  .  . 
Sylvia,  what  are  you  staring  at?  Oh,  I — see." 

They  had  driven  south  to  Washington  Square,  where 
Mrs.  Ferrall  had  desired  to  leave  a  note,  and  were  now 
returning.  Sylvia  had  leaned  forward  to  look  up  at 
Siward's  house,  but  with  Mrs.  Fer rail's  first  word  she 
sank  back,  curiously  expressionless  and  white;  for  she 
had  seen  a  woman  entering  the  front  door  and  had 
recognised  her  as  Marion  Page. 

"  Well,  of  all  indiscretions !  "  breathed  Grace,  look 
ing  helplessly  at  Sylvia.  "  Oh,  no,  that  sort  of  thing 
is  sheer  effrontery,  you  know !  It's  rotten  bad  taste ; 
it's  no  worse,  of  course — but  it's  bad  taste.  I  don't  care 
what  privileges  we  concede  to  Marion,  we're  not  going 
to  concede  this — unless  she  puts  on  trousers  for  good. 
It's  all  very  well  for  her  to  talk  her  plain  kennel  talk, 
and  call  spades  by  their  technical  names,  and  smoke  all 
over  people's  houses,  and  walk  all  over  people's  preju- 

373 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

dices ;  but  there's  no  sense  in  her  hunting  for  trouble ; 
and  she'll  get  it,  sure  as  scandal  is  scandal !  " 

And  still  Sylvia  remained  pale  and  silent,  eyes  down 
cast,  shrinking  close  into  her  upholstered  corner,  as 
though  some  reflex  instinct  of  self -concealment  was  still 
automatically  dominating  her. 

"  She  ought  to  be  spanked ! "  said  Grace  viciously. 
"  If  she  were  my  daughter  I'd  do  it,  too !  " 

Sylvia  did  not  stir. 

"  Little  idiot !  Going  into  a  man's  house  in  the  face 
of  all  Fifth  Avenue  and  the  teeth  of  decency !  " 

"  She  has  courage,"  said  Sylvia,  still  very  white. 

"  Courage !     Do  you  mean  fool-hardiness  ?  " 

"  No,  courage — the  courage  I  lacked.  I  knew  he 
was  too  ill  to  leave  his  room  and  I  lacked  the  courage 
to  go  and  see  him." 

"  You  mean,  alone?  " 

"  Certainly,  alone." 

"  You  dare  tell  me  you  ever  contemplated " 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  think  I  should  have  done  it  yet,  but— 
but  Marion " 

Suddenly  she  bent  forward,  resting  her  face  in  her 
hands ;  and  between  the  fingers  a  bright  drop  ran,  glim 
mered,  and  fell. 

"  O  Lord !  "  breathed  Mrs.  Ferrall,  and  sank  back, 
nerveless,  into  her  own  corner  of  the  rocking  brougham. 


374 


CHAPTER    XII 

THE    ASKING    PRICE 

SIWARD,  at  his  desk,  over  which  the  May  sunshine 
streamed,  his  crutches  laid  against  his  chair,  sat  poring 
over  the  piles  of  papers  left  there  by  Beverly  Plank 
some  days  before  with  a  curt  recommendation  that  he 
master  their  contents. 

Some  of  the  papers  were  typewritten,  some  appeared 
to  be  engraved  certificates  of  stock,  a  few  were  in 
Plank's  heavy,  squat  handwriting.  There  were  several 
packages  tied  in  pink  tape,  evidently  legal  papers  of 
some  sort;  and  also  a  pile  of  scrap-books  containing 
newspaper  clippings  to  which  Siward  referred  occa 
sionally,  or  read  them  at  length,  resting  his  thin,  fa 
tigued  face  between  two  bony  hands. 

The  curious  persistence  of  youth  in  his  features 
seemed  unaccountable  in  view  of  the  heavy  marks  im 
printed  there;  but  they  were  marks,  not  lines;  bluish 
hollows  under  eyes  still  young,  marred  contours  of  the 
cheek-bone;  a  hardness  about  the  hollow  temples  above 
which  his  short,  bright  hair  clustered  with  all  its  soft, 
youthful  allure  undimmed;  and  in  every  movement, 
every  turn  of  his  head,  there  still  remained  much  of 
that  indefinable  attractiveness  which  had  always  charac 
terised  his  race — much  of  the  unconscious  charm  usually 
known  as  breeding. 

In  men  of  Mortimer's  fibre,  dissipation  produced 
coarser  symptoms — distended  veins,  and  sagging  flesh 
25  375 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

— where  in  Siward  it  seemed  to  bruise  and  harden, 
driving  the  colour  of  blood  out  of  him  and  leaving  the 
pallor  of  marble,  and  the  bluish  shadows  of  it  staining 
the  hollows.  Only  the  eyes  had  begun  to  change  radi 
cally  ;  something  in  them  had  been  quenched. 

That  he  could  never  hope  to  become  immune  he  had 
learned  at  last  when  he  had  returned,  physically  whole 
some,  from  his  long  course  of  training  under  the  famous 
Irish  specialist  on  the  Hudson.  He  had  expected  to  be 
immune,  spite  of  the  blunt  and  forcible  language  of 
Mulqueen  when  he  turned  him  out  into  the  world  again : 

"  Ye'll  be  afther  notin',"  said  Mr.  Mulqueen,  "  that 
a  poonch  in  the  plexis  putts  a  man  out;  but  it  don't 
kill  him.  That's  you\  Whin  a  man  mixes  it  up  wid 
the  booze,  1'ave  him  come  here  an'  I'll  tache  him  a 
thrick.  But  it's  not  murther  I  tache;  it's  the  hook  on 
the  jaw  that  shtops,  an'  the  poonch  in  the  plexis  that 
putts  the  booze-divil  on  the  bum !  L'ave  him  take  the 
count;  he'll  niver  rise  to  the  chune  o'  the  bell  av  ye 
Pave  him  lie.  But  he  ain't  dead,  Misther  Sayward; 
mark  that,  me  son !  An'  don't  ye  be  afther  sayin',  '  Th' 
inimy  is  down  an'  out  fur  good!  Pore  lad!  Sure,  I'll 
shake  hands  over  a  dhrink  wid  him,  for  he  can  do  me 
no  hurrt  anny  more  ! '  No,  sorr  !  L'ave  him  lie,  an'  Pave 
the  years  av  yer  life  count  him  out ;  fur  the  day  you 
die,  lie  dies,  an'  not  wan  shake  o'  the  mixer  sooner! 
G'wan,  now,  fur  the  rub-down.  Ye've  f aught  yer  lasht 
round,  if  ye  ain't  a  fool !  " 

He  had  been  a  fool.  He  had  imagined  that  he  could 
control  himself,  and  practise  the  moderation  that  other 
men  practised  when  they  chose.  The  puerile  restraint 
annoyed  him;  his  implied  inability  te  master  himself 
humiliated  him,  the  more  so  because,  secretly,  he  was 
horribly  afraid  in  the  remote  depths  of  his  heart. 

376 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


Exactly  how  it  happened  he  did  not  remember,  ex 
cept  that  he  had  gone  down  town  on  business  and  had 
lunched  with  several  men.  There  was  claret.  Later  he 
remembered  another  cafe,  farther  up  town,  and  another, 
more  brilliantly  lighted.  After  that  there  were  vague 
hours — the  fierce  fever  of  debauch  wrapping  night  and 
day  in  flame  through  which  he  moved,  unseeing,  un 
heeding,  deafened,  drenched  soul  and  body  in  the  living 
fire;  or  dreaming,  feeling  the  subsiding  fury  of  desire 
pulse  and  ebb  and  flow,  rocking  him  to  unconsciousness. 

His  father's  old  servants  had  found  him  again,  this 
time  in  the  area;  and  this  time  the  same  ankle,  not  yet 
strong,  had  been  broken. 

Through  the  waning  winter  days,  as  he  lay  brooding 
in  bitterness,  realising  that  it  was  all  to  do  over  again, 
Plank's  shy  visits  became  gradually  part  of  the  routine. 
But  it  was  many  days  before  Siward  perceived  in  the 
big,  lumbering,  pink-fisted  man  anything  to  attract  him 
beyond  the  faintly  amused  curiosity  of  one  man  for  an 
other  who  is  in  process  of  establishing  himself  as  the 
first  of  a  race. 

As  for  reciprocation  in  other  forms  except  the  most 
superficial,  or  of  permitting  a  personal  note  to  sound 
ever  so  discreetly,  Siward  tolerated  no  such  idea.  Even 
the  tentative  advances  of  Plank  hinting  on  willingness, 
and  perhaps  ability,  to  help  Siward  in  the  Amalgamated 
tangle  were  pleasantly  ignored.  Unpaid  services  ren 
dered  by  men  like  Plank  were  impossible;  any  obliga 
tion  to  Plank  was  utterly  out  of  the  question.  Mean 
while  they  began  to  like  one  another — at  least  Siward 
often  found  himself  looking  forward  with  pleasure  to 
a  visit  from  Plank.  There  had  never  been  any  question 
of  the  latter's  attitude  toward  Siward. 

Plank  began  to  frequent  the  house,  but  never  in- 
377 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

formally.  It  is  doubtful  whether  he  could  have  prac 
tised  informality  in  that  house  even  at  Siward's  invita 
tion.  Something  of  the  attitude  of  a  college  lower 
classman  for  a  man  in  a  class  above  seemed  to  typify  their 
relations;  and  that  feeling  is  never  entirely  eradicated 
between  men,  no  matter  how  close  their  relationship  in 
after-life. 

One  very  bad  night  Plank  came  to  the  house  and 
was  admitted  by  Gumble.  Wands,  the  second  man,  stood 
behind  the  aged  butler;  both  were  apparently  fright 
ened. 

That  something  was  amiss  appeared  plainly  enough ; 
and  Plank,  instinctively  producing  a  card,  dropped  it 
on  a  table  and  turned  to  go.  It  may  have  been  that  the 
old  butler  recognised  the  innate  delicacy  of  the  motive, 
or  it  may  have  been  a  sudden  confidence  born  of  the 
necessities  of  the  case,  for  he  asked  Plank  to  see  his 
young  master. 

And  Plank,  looking  him  in  the  eyes,  considered,  until 
his  courage  began  to  fail.  Then  he  went  up-stairs. 

It  was  a  bad  night  outside,  and  it  was  a  bad  night 
for  Siward.  The  master-vice  had  him  by  the  throat. 
He  sat  there,  clutching  the  arms  of  his  chair,  his  broken 
leg,  in  its  plaster  casing,  extended  in  front  of  him ;  and 
when  he  saw  Plank  enter  he  glared  at  him. 

Hour  after  hour  the  two  men  sat  there,  the  one  white 
with  rage,  but  helpless ;  the  other,  stolid,  inert,  deaf  to 
demands  for  intercession  with  the  arch-vice,  dumb  under 
pleadings  for  a  compromise.  He  refused  to  interfere 
with  the  butler,  and  Siward  insulted  him.  He  refused 
to  go  and  find  the  decanters  himself,  and  Siward  delib 
erately  cursed  him. 

Outside  the  storm  raged  all  night.  Inside  that 
house  Plank  faced  a  more  awful  tempest.  There  was 

378 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


a  sedative  on  the  mantel  and  he  offered  it  to  Siward, 
who  struck  it  from  his  hand. 

Once,  toward  morning,  Siward  feigned  sleep,  and 
Plank,  heavy  head  on  his  breast,  feigned  it,  too.  Then 
Siward  bent  over  stealthily  and  opened  a  drawer  in  his 
desk;  and  Plank  was  on  his  feet  like  a  flash,  jerking  the 
morphine  from  Siward's  fingers. 

The  doctor  arrived  at  daylight,  responding  to 
Plank's  summons  by  telephone,  and  Plank  went  away 
with  the  morphine  and  Siward's  revolver  bulging  in  the 
side-pockets  of  his  dinner  coat. 

He  did  not  come  again  for  a  week.  A  short  note 
from  Siward  started  him  toward  lower  Fifth  Avenue. 

There  was  little  said  when  he  came  into  the  room : 

"  Hello,  Plank!    Glad  to  see  you." 

"  Hello !    Are  you  all  right  ?  " 

"  All  right.  .  .  .  Much  obliged  for  pulling  me 
through.  Wish  you'd  pull  me  through  this  Amalga 
mated  Electric  knot-hole,  too — some  day !  " 

"  Do — do  you  mean  it  ?  "  ventured  Plank,  turning 
red  with  delight. 

"  Mean  it?  Indeed  I  do — if  you  do.  Sit  here ;  ring 
for  whatever  you  want — or  perhaps  you'd  better  go 
down  to  the  sideboard.  I'm  not  to  be  trusted  with  the 
odour  in  the  room  just  yet." 

"  I  don't  care  for  anything,"  said  Plank. 

"  Whenever  you  please,  then.  You  know  the  house, 
and  you  don't  mind  my  being  unceremonious,  do  you?  " 

"  No,"  said  Plank. 

"Good!"  rejoined  Siward,  laughing.  "I  expect 
the  same  friendly  lack  of  ceremony  from  you." 

But  that,  for  Plank,  was  impossible.  All  he  could 
do  was  to  care  the  more  for  Siward  without  crossing  the 
border  line  so  suddenly  made  free;  all  he  could  do  was 

379 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

to  sit  there  rolling  and  unrolling  his  gloves  into  wads 
with  his  clumsy,  highly  coloured  hands,  and  gaze  con 
sciously  at  everything  in  the  room  except  Siward. 

On  that  day,  at  Plank's  shy  suggestion,  they  talked 
over  Siward's  business  affairs  for  the  first  time.  After 
that  day,  and  for  many  days,  the  subject  became  the 
key-note  to  their  intercourse ;  and  Siward  at  last  under 
stood  that  this  man  desired  to  do  him  a  service  absolutely 
and  purely  from  a  disinterested  liking  for  him,  and  as 
an  expression  of  that  liking.  Also  he  was  unexpectedly 
made  aware  of  Plank's  serenely  unerring  business  sa 
gacity. 

That  surface  cynicism  which  all  must  learn,  sooner 
or  later,  or  remain  the  victims  of  naive  credulity,  was, 
in  Siward,  nothing  but  an  outer  skin,  as  it  is  in  all  who 
acquire  wisdom  with  their  cynicism.  It  was  not  long 
proof  against  Plank's  simple  attitude  and  undisguised 
pleasure  in  doing  something  for  a  man  he  liked.  Under 
that  simplicity  no  motive,  no  self-interest  coirld  skulk ; 
and  Siward  knew  it. 

As  for  the  quid  pro  quo,  Siward  had  insisted  from 
the  first  on  a  business  arrangement.  The  treachery  of 
Major  Belwether  through  sheer  fright  had  knocked  the 
key-stone  from  the  syndicate,  and  the  dam  which  made 
the  golden  pool  possible  collapsed,  showering  Plank's 
brokers  who  worked  patiently  with  buckets  and  mops. 

The  double  treachery  of  Quarrier  was  now  perfectly 
apparent  to  Plank.  Siward,  true  to  his  word,  held  his 
stock  in  the  face  of  ruin.  Kemp  Ferrall,  furious  with 
the  major,  and  beginning  to  suspect  Quarrier,  came  to 
Plank  for  consultation. 

Then  the  defence  formed  under  Plank.  Legal  ma 
chinery  was  set  in  motion,  meeting  followed  meeting,  until 
Harrington  cynically  showed  his  hand  and  Quarrier 

380 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


smiled  his  rare  smile ;  and  the  fight  against  Inter-County 
was  on  in  the  open,  preceded  by  a  furious  clamour  of 
charge  and  counter-charge  in  the  columns  of  the  daily 
press. 

That  Quarrier  had  been  guilty  of  something  or  other 
was  the  vague  impression  of  that  great  news-reading 
public  which,  stunned  by  the  reiteration  of  figures  in  the 
millions,  turns  to  the  simpler  pleasures  of  a  murder  trial. 
Besides,  whatever  Quarrier  had  done  was  no  doubt  done 
within  the  chalk-marked  courts  of  the  game,  though 
probably  his  shoes  may  have  become  a  little  dusty. 

But  who  could  hope  to  bring  players  like  Quarrier 
before  the  ordinary  umpire,  or  to  investigate  his  methods 
with  the  everyday  investigations  reserved  for  everyday 
folk,  whose  road  through  business  life  lay  always  be 
tween  State's  prison  and  the  penitentiary  and  whose 
guide-posts  were  policemen? 

Let  the  great  syndicates  join  in  battle;  they  could 
only  slay  each  other.  Let  the  millions  bury  their  mil 
lions;  the  public,  though  poorer,  could  never  be  the 
wiser. 

Siward,  at  his  desk,  the  May  sunshine  pouring  over 
him,  sat  conning  the  heaps  of  typewritten  sheets, 
striving  to  see  between  the  lines  some  sign  of  fortune 
for  his  investments,  some  promise  of  release  from  the 
increasing  financial  stringency,  some  chance  of  justice 
being  done  on  those  high  priests  who  had  been  perform 
ing  marvellous  tricks  upon  their  altar  so  that  by  miracle, 
mine  and  thine  spelled  "  ours,"  and  all  the  tablets  of 
the  law  were  lettered  upside  down  and  hind-side  before, 
like  the  Black  Mass. 

Gumble  knocked  presently.  Siward  raised  his  per 
plexed  eyes. 

381 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  Miss  Page,  sir." 

"Oh,"  said  Siward  doubtfully;  then,  "Ask  Miss 
Page  to  come  up." 

Marion  strolled  in  a  moment  later,  exchanged  a  vig 
orous  hand  shake  with  Siward,  pulled  up  a  chair  and 
dropped  into  it.  She  was  in  riding-habit  and  boots, 
faultlessly  groomed  as  usual,  her  smooth,  pale  hair  sleek 
in  its  thick  knot,  collar  and  tie  immaculate  as  her  gloves. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  any  news  of  your  ankle, 
Stephen?" 

"  I  inquired  about  my  ankle,"  said  Siward,  amused, 
"  and  they  tell  me  it  is  better,  thank  you." 

"  Sit  a  horse  pretty  soon?  "  she  asked,  dropping 
one  leg  over  the  other  and  balancing  the  riding-crop 
across  her  knee. 

"  Not  for  awhile.  You  have  a  fine  day  for  a  gallop, 
Marion,"  looking  askance  at  the  sunshine  filtering 
through  the  first  green  leaves  of  the  tree  outside  his 
window. 

"  It's  all  right— the  day.  I'm  trying  Tom  O'Hara's 
new  mare.  They  say  she's  a  little  devil.  I  never  saw 
a  devil  of  a  horse — did  you?  There  may  be  some  out 
West." 

"  Don't  break  that  pretty  neck  of  yours,  Marion," 
he  said. 

She  lifted  her  eyes ;  then,  briefly,  "  No  fear." 

"  Yes,  there  is,"  he  said.  "  There's  no  use  looking 
for  trouble  in  a  horse.  Women  who  hunt  as  you  hunt 
take  all  that's  legitimately  coming  to  them.  Why  doesn't 
Tom  ride  his  own  mare?  " 

"  She  rolled  on  him,"  said  Marion  simply. 

"Oh.     Is  he  hurt?" 

"  Ribs." 

"  Well,  he's  lucky !  " 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


"  Isn't  he !  He'll  miss  a  few  drills  with  his  precious 
squadron,  that's  all." 

She  was  looking  about  her,  preoccupied.  "  Where 
are  your  cigarettes,  Stephen?  Oh,  I  see.  Don't  try  to 
move — don't  be  silly." 

She  leaned  over  the  desk,  her  fresh  young  face  close 
to  his,  and  reached  for  the  cigarettes.  The  clean-cut 
head,  the  sweetness  of  her  youth  and  femininity,  boyish 
in  its  allure,  were  very  attractive  to  him — more  so,  per 
haps,  because  of  his  isolation  from  the  atmosphere  of 
women. 

"  It's  all  very  well,  Marion,  your  coming  here — and 
it's  very  sweet  of  you,  and  I  enjoy  it  immensely,"  he 
said ;  "  but  it's  a  deuced  imprudent  thing  for  you  to  do, 
and  I  feel  bound  to  say  so  for  your  sake  every  time 
you  come." 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  coolly  blew  a  wreath 
of  smoke  at  him. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  unconvinced. 

"  Certainly  it's  all  right.  I've  done  what  suited  me 
all  my  life.  This  suits  me." 

"  It  suits  me,  too,"  he  said,  "  only  I  wish  you'd  tell 
your  mother  before  somebody  around  this  neighbour 
hood  informs  her  first." 

"  Let  'em.  You'll  be  out  by  that  time.  Do  you 
think  I'm  going  to  tell  my  mother  now  and  have  her 
stop  it?" 

"  Oh,  Marion,  you  know  perfectly  well  that  it  won't 
do  for  a  girl  to  ignore  first  principles.  I'm  horribly 
afraid  somebody  will  talk  about  you." 

"  What  would  you  do,  then?  " 

"  I?  "  he  asked,  disturbed.    "  What  could  I  do?  " 

"  Why,  I  suppose,"  she  said  slowly,  "  you'd  have 
to  marry  me." 

383 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

"  Then,"  he  rejoined  with  a  laugh,  "  I  should  think 
you'd  be  scared  into  prudence  by  the  prospect." 

"  I  am  not  easily — scared,"  she  said,  looking  down. 

"  Not  at  that  prospect?  "  he  said  jestingly. 

She  looked  up  at  him ;  and  he  remembered  afterward 
the  poise  of  her  small  head,  and  the  slow,  clear  colour 
mounting;  remembered  that  it  conveyed  to  him,  some 
how,  a  hint  of  courage  and  sincerity. 

"  I  am  not  frightened,"  she  said  gravely. 

Gravity  fell  upon  him,  too.  In  this  young  girl's 
eyes  there  was  no  evasion.  For  a  long  while  he  had 
felt  vaguely  that  matters  were  not  perfectly  balanced 
between  them.  At  moments,  even,  he  had  felt  an  in 
definable  uneasiness  in  her  presence.  The  situation 
troubled  him,  too ;  and  though  he  had  known  her  from 
childhood  and  had  long  ago  learned  to  discount  her 
vagaries  of  informality,  her  manners  sans  fafon,  her 
careless  ignoring  of  convention,  and  the  unembarrassed 
terms  of  her  speech,  his  common-sense  could  not  coun 
tenance  this  defiance  of  social  usage,  sure  to  involve  even 
such  a  privileged  girl  as  she  in  some  unpleasantness. 

This  troubled  him;  and  now,  partly  sceptical,  yet 
partly  conscious,  too,  of  her  very  frank  liking  for  him 
self,  he  looked  at  her,  perplexed,  apprehensive,  unwill 
ing  to  credit  her  with  any  deeper  meaning  than  her  words 
expressed. 

She  had  grown  pink  and  restless  under  his  gaze, 
using  her  cigarette  frequently,  and  continually  flicking 
the  ashes  to  the  floor,  until  the  little  finger  of  her  glove 
was  blackened. 

But  courage  characterised  her  race.  It  had  required 
more  than  he  knew  for  her  to  come  into  his  house;  and 
now  that  she  was  there  loyalty  to  her  professed  prin 
ciples — that  a  man  and  a  woman  were  by  right  endowed 

384 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


with   equal   privileges — forced   her  to   face  the  conse 
quences  of  her  theory  in  the  practise. 

She  had,  with  calm  face  and  quivering  heart,  given 
him  an  opening.  That  was  a  concession  to  her  essential 
womanhood  and  a  cowardice  on  her  part;  and,  lest  she 
turn  utterly  traitor  to  herself,  she  faced  him  again,  cool, 
quiet,  and  terror  in  her  heart : 

"  I'd  be  very  glad  to  marry  you — if  you  c-cared 
to,"  she  said. 

"Marion!" 

"Yes?" 

"  Oh — I — it  is — of  course  it's  a  joke." 

"  No ;  I'm  serious." 

"  Serious  !     Nonsense !  " 

"  Please  don't  say  that." 

He  looked  at  her,  appalled. 

"  But  I — but  you  don't  love — can't  be  in  love  with 
me !  "  he  stammered. 

"  I  am." 

Gloved  hands  tightening  on  either  end  of  her  riding- 
crop,  she  bent  her  knee  against  it,  balancing  there,  look 
ing  straight  at  him. 

"  I  meant  to  tell  you  so,"  she  said,  "  if  you  didn't 
tell  me  first.  So — I  was  rather — tired  waiting.  So  I've 
told  you." 

"  It  is  only  a  fancy,"  he  said,  scarcely  knowing  what 
he  was  saying. 

"  I  don't  think  so,  Stephen." 

But  he  could  not  meet  her  candour,  and  he  sat,  silent, 
miserable,  staring  at  the  papers  on  his  desk. 

After  a  while  she  drew  a  deep,  even  breath,  and  rose 
to  her  feet. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  she  said  simply. 

"  Marion — I  never  dreamed  that " 

385 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  You  should  dream  truer,"  she  said.  There  was  a 
suspicion  of  mist  in  her  clear  eyes ;  she  turned  abruptly 
to  the  window  and  stood  there  for  a  few  moments,  look 
ing  down  at  her  brougham  waiting  in  front  of  the  house. 
"  It  can't  be  helped,  can  it !  "  she  said,  turning  suddenly. 

He  found  no  answer  to  her  question. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said,  walking  to  him  with  out 
stretched  hand ;  "  it's  all  in  a  lifetime,  Steve,  and  that's 
too  short  for  a  good,  clean  friendship  like  ours  to  die 
in.  I  don't  think  I'd  better  come  again.  Look  me  up 
for  a  gallop  when  you're  fit.  And  you  might  drop 
me  a  line  to  say  how  you're  getting  on.  Is  it  all  right, 
Stephen?" 

"  All  right,"  he  said  hoarsely. 

Their  hands  tightened  in  a  crushing  clasp ;  then  she 
swung  on  her  spurred  heel  and  walked  out,  leaving  him 
haggard,  motionless.  He  heard  the  front  door  close, 
and  he  swayed  forward,  dropping  his  face  in  his  hands, 
arms  half  buried  among  the  papers  on  his  desk. 

Plank  found  him  there,  an  hour  later,  fumbling 
among  the  papers,  and  at  first  feared  that  he  read  in 
Siward's  drawn  and  sullen  face  a  premonition  of  the 
ever-dreaded  symptoms. 

"  Quarrier  has  telephoned  asking  for  a  conference  at 
last,"  he  said  abruptly,  sitting  down  beside  Siward. 

"  Well,"  inquired  Siward,  "  how  do  you  interpret 
that — favourably  ?  " 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think  he  is  a  bit  uneasy,"  said 
Plank  cautiously.  "  Harrington  made  a  secret  trip  to 
Albany  last  week.  You  didn't  know  that." 

"  No." 

"  Well,  he  did.  It  looks  to  me  as  though  there  were 
going  to  be  a  ghost  of  a  chance  for  an  investigation. 
That  is  how  I  am  inclined  to  consider  Harrington's  trip 

386 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


and  Quarrier's  flag  of  truce.  But — I  don't  know. 
There's  nothing  definite,  of  course.  You  are  as  con 
versant  with  the  situation  as  I  am." 

"  No,  I  am  not.  That  is  like  you,  Plank,  to  ascribe 
to  me  the  same  business  sense  that  you  possess,  but  I 
haven't  got  it.  It's  very  nice  and  considerate  of  you, 
but  I  haven't  it,  and  you  know  it." 

"  I  think  you  have." 

"  You  think  so  because  you  think  generously.  That 
doesn't  alter  the  facts.  Now  tell  me  what  you  have  con 
cluded  that  we  ought  to  do  and  I'll  say  '  Amen,'  as  usual." 

Plank  laughed,  and  looked  over  several  sheets  of  the 
typewritten  matter  on  the  desk  beside  him. 

"  Suppose  I  meet  Quarrier?  "  he  said. 

"  All  right.     Did  he  suggest  a  date?  " 

"  At  four,  this  afternoon." 

"  Do  you  think  you  had  better  go  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  might  do  no  harm,"  said  Plank. 

"  Amen !  "  observed  Siward,  laughing,  and  touched 
the  electric  button  for  the  early  tea,  which  Plank  adored 
at  any  hour. 

For  a  while  they  dropped  business  and  discussed 
their  tea,  chatting  very  comfortably  together.  Long  ago 
Siward  had  found  out  something  of  the  mental  breadth 
of  the  man  beside  him,  and  that  he  was  worth  listening 
to  as  well  as  talking  to.  For  Plank  had  formed  opinions 
upon  a  great  many  subjects;  and  whatever  culture  he 
possessed  was  from  sheer  desire  for  self-cultivation. 

"  You  know,  Siward,"  he  was  accustomed  to  say  with 
a  smile,  "  you  inherit  what  I  am  qualifying  myself  to 
transmit." 

"  It  will  be  all  one  in  a  thousand  years,"  was  Siward's 
usual  rejoinder. 

"  That  is  not  going  to  prevent  my  efforts  to  become 
387 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 


a  good  ancestor  to  my  descendents,"  Plank  would  say 
laughingly.  "  They  shall  have  a  chance,  every  one  of 
them.  And  it  will  be  up  to  them  if  they  don't  make 
good." 

Sipping  their  tea  in  the  pleasant,  sunny  room,  they 
discussed  matters  of  common  interest — Plank's  recent 
fishing  trip  on  Long  Island  and  the  degeneracy  of  liver- 
fed  trout ;  the  North  Side  Club's  Experiments  with  Euro 
pean  partridges ;  Billy  Fleetwood's  new  stables  ;  forestry, 
and  the  chance  of  national  legislation  concerning  it — 
a  subject  of  which  Plank  was  very  fond,  and  on  which 
he  had  exceedingly  sound  ideas. 

Drifting  from  one  topic  to  another  through  the  haze 
of  their  cigars,  silent  when  it  pleased  them  to  be  so, 
there  could  be  no  doubt  of  their  liking  for  each  other 
upon  a  basis  at  least  superficially  informal;  and  if 
Plank's  manner  retained  at  times  a  shade  of  quaint  re 
serve,  Siward's  was  perhaps  the  more  frankly  direct  for 
that  reason. 

"  I  think,"  observed  Plank,  laying  his  half-consumed 
cigar  on  the  silver  tray,  "  that  I'd  better  go  down  town 
and  see  what  our  pre-glacial  friend  Quarrier  wants.  I 
may  be  able  to  furnish  him  with  a  new  sensation." 

"  I  wonder  if  Quarrier  ever  experienced  a  genuine 
sensation,"  mused  Siward,  arranging  the  papers  before 
him  into  divisional  piles. 

"  Plenty,"  said  Plank  drily. 

"  I  don't  think  so." 

"  Plenty,"  repeated  Plank.  "  It's  your  thin-lipped, 
thin-nosed,  pasty-pale,  symmetrical  brother  who  is  closer 
to  the  animal  under  his  mask  than  any  of  us  imagine. 
I — "  He  hesitated.  "  Do  you  want  to  know  my  opin 
ion  of  Quarrier?  I've  never  told  you,  I  don't  usually 
talk  about  my — dislikes.  Do  you  want  to  know?  " 

388 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


"  Certainly,"  said  Siward  curiously. 

"  Then,  first  of  all,  he  is  a  sentimentalist." 

"Oh!  oh!"  jeered  Siward. 

"  A  sentimentalist  of  the  weakest  type,"  continued 
Plank  obstinately ;  "  because  he  sentimentalises  over  him 
self.  Siward,  look  out  for  the  man  with  elaborate  whis 
kers  !  Look  out  for  a  pallid  man  with  eccentric  hair 
and  a  silky  beard !  He's  a  sentimentalist  of  the  sort 
I  told  you,  and  is  usually  utterly  remorseless  in 
his  dealings  with  women.  I  suppose  you  think  me  a 
fool." 

"  I  think  Quarrier  is  indifferent  concerning  women," 
said  Siward. 

"  You  are  wrong.  He  is  a  sensualist,"  insisted 
Plank. 

"  Oh,  no,  Plank— not  that !  " 

"  A  sensualist.  His  sentimental  vanity  he  lavishes 
upon  himself — the  animal  in  him  on  women.  His  cau 
tion,  born  of  self-consideration,  is  the  caution  of  a 
beast.  Such  men  as  he  believe  they  live  in  the  focus 
of  a  million  eyes.  Part  of  his  vanity  is  to  deceive  those 
eyes  and  be  what  he  is  under  the  mask  he  wears ;  and 
to  do  that  one  must  be  the  very  master  of  caution. 
That  is  Quarrier's  vanity.  To  conceal,  is  his  mono 
mania." 

"  I  cannot  see  how  you  draw  that  conclusion." 

"  Siward,  he  is  a  bad  man,  and  crafty — every  inch 
of  him." 

"  Oh,  come,  now !  Only  characters  in  fiction  have 
no  saving  qualities.  You  never  heard  of  anybody  in  real 
life  being  entirely  bad." 

"  No,  I  didn't ;  and  Quarrier  isn't.  For  example, 
he  is  kind  to  valuable  animals — I  mean,  his  own." 

"  Good  to  animals !     The  bad  man's  invariable  char- 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

acteristic !  "  laughed  Siward.  "  I'm  kind  to  'em,  too. 
What  else  is  he  good  to?  " 

"  Everybody  knows  that  he  hasn't  a  poor  relation 
left ;  not  one.  He  is  loyal  to  them  in  a  rare  way ;  he 
filled  one  subsidiary  company  full  of  them.  It  is  known 
down  town  as  the  '  Home  for  Destitute  Nephews.' ' 

"  Seriously,  Plank,  the  man  must  have  something 
good  in  him." 

"  Because  of  your  theory  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  believe  that  nobody  is  entirely  bad.  So  do 
the  great  masters  of  fiction." 

Plank  said  gravely :  "  He  is  a  good  son  to  his  father. 
That  is  perfectly  true — kind,  considerate,  dutiful,  loyal. 
The  financial  world  is  perfectly  aware  that  Stanley 
Quarrier  is  to-day  the  most  unscrupulous  old  scoundrel 
who  ever  crushed  a  refinery  or  debauched  a  railroad ! 
and  his  son  no  more  believes  it  than  he  credits  the 
scandalous  history  of  the  Red  Woman  of  Wall  Street. 
Why,  when  I  was  making  arrangements  for  that  chapel 
Quarrier  came  to  me,  very  much  perturbed,  because  he 
understood  that  all  the  memorial  chapels  for  the  cathe 
dral  had  been  arranged  for,  and  he  had  desired  to  build 
one  to  the  memory  of  his  father!  His  father  I  Isn't 
it  awful  to  think  of! — a  chapel  to  the  memory  of  the 
briber  of  judges  and  of  legislatures,  the  cynical  defier 
of  law! — this  hoary  old  thief,  who  beggared  the  widow 
and  stripped  the  orphan,  and  whose  only  match,  as  a 
great  unpunished  criminal,  was  that  sinister  little  pre 
decessor  of  his,  who  dreamed  even  of  debauching  the 
executive  of  these  United  States !  " 

Siward  had  never  before  seen  Plank  aroused,  and  he 
said  so,  smiling. 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Plank  earnestly ;  "  I  waste  little 
temper  over  my  likes  and  dislikes.  But  what  I  know, 

390 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


and  what  I  legitimately  infer  concerning  the  younger 
Quarrier  is  enough  to  rouse  any  man's  anger.  I  won't 
tell  you  what  I  know.  I  can't.  It  has  nothing  to  do 
with  his  financial  methods,  nothing  to  do  with  this  busi 
ness  ;  but  it  is  bad — bad  all  through !  The  blow  his 
father  struck  at  the  integrity  of  the  bench  the  son  strikes 
at  the  very  key-stone  of  all  social  safeguard.  It  isn't  my 
business ;  I  cannot  interfere ;  but  Siward,  I'm  a  damned 
restless  witness,  and  the  old,  primitive  longing  comes 
back  on  me  to  strike — to  take  a  stick  and  use  it  to  splin 
ters  on  that  man  whom  I  am  going  down  town  to  politely 
confer  with !  .  .  .  And  I  must  go  now.  Good-bye.  .  .  . 
Take  care  of  that  ankle.  Any  books  I  can  send  you — 
anything  you  want?  No?  All  right.  And  don't  worry 
over  Amalgamated  Electric,  for  I  really  believe  we  are 
beginning  to  frighten  them  badly." 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Siward.  "  Don't  forget  that  I'm 
always  at  home." 

"  You  must  get  out,"  muttered  Plank ;  "  you  must 
get  well,  and  get  out  into  the  sunshine."  And  he  went 
ponderously  down-stairs  to  the  square  hall,  where  Gumble 
held  his  hat  and  gloves  ready  for  him. 

He  had  come  in  a  big  yellow  and  black  touring-car ; 
and  now,  with  a  brief  word  to  his  mechanic,  he  climbed 
into  the  tonneau,  and  away  they  sped  down  town — a  glit 
ter  of  bull's-eye,  brass,  and  varnish,  with  the  mellow, 
horn  notes  floating  far  in  their  wake. 

It  was  exactly  four  o'clock  when  he  was  ushered  into 
Quarrier's  private  suite  in  the  great  marble  Algonquin 
Loan  and  Trust  Building,  the  upper  stories  of  which 
were  all  golden  in  the  sun  against  a  sky  of  sapphire. 

Quarrier  was  alone,  gloved  and  hatted,  as  though 
on  the  point  of  leaving.  He  showed  a  slight  surprise 
at  seeing  Plank,  as  if  he  had  not  been  expecting  him; 
26  391 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

and  the  manner  of  offering  his  hand  subtly  emphasised 
it  as  he  came  forward  with  a  trace  of  inquiry  in  his 
greeting. 

"  You  said  four  o'clock,  I  believe,"  observed  Plank 
bluntly. 

"  Ah,  yes.  It  was  about  that — ah — matter — ah — I 
beg  your  pardon;  can  you  recollect?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is  you  want.  You  requested 
this  meeting,"  said  Plank,  yawning. 

"  Certainly.  I  recollect  it  perfectly  now.  Will  you 
sit  here,  Mr.  Plank — for  a  moment " 

"  If  it  concerns  Inter-County,  it  will  take  longer  than 
a  moment — unless  you  cannot  spare  the  time  now,"  said 
Plank.  "  Shall  we  call  it  off?  " 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  am  rather  short  of  time 
just  now." 

"  Then  let  us  postpone  it.  I  shall  probably  be  at 
rny  office  if  you  are  anxious  to  see  me." 

Quarrier  looked  at  him,  then  laid  aside  his  hat  and 
sat  down.  There  was  little  to  be  done  in  diplomacy  with 
an  oaf  like  that. 

"  Mr.  Plank,"  he  said,  without  any  emphasis  at  all, 
"  there  should  be  some  way  for  us  to  come  together. 
Have  you  considered  it?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  replied  Plank. 

"  I  mean,  for  you  and  me  to  try  to  understand  each 
other." 

"  For  us?  "  asked  Plank,  raising  his  blond  eyebrows. 
"  Do  you  mean  Amalgamated  Electric  and  Inter-County, 
impersonally  ?  " 

"  I  mean  for  us,  personally." 

"  There  is  no  way,r'  said  Plank,  with  conviction. 

"  I  think  there  is." 

"  You  are  wasting  time  thinking  it,  Mr.  Quarrier." 
392 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


Quarrier's  velvet-fringed  eyes  began  to  narrow,  but 
his  calm  voice  remained  unchanged :  "  We  are  merely 
wasting  energy  in  this  duel,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  don't  feel  wasted." 

"  We  are  also  wasting  opportunities,"  continued 
Quarrier  slowly.  "  This  whole  matter  is  involving  us 
in  a  tangle  of  litigation  requiring  our  constant  effort, 
constant  attention." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Quarrier,  but  you  take  it 
too  seriously.  I  have  found,  in  this  affair,  nothing  ex 
cept  a  rather  agreeable  mental  exhilaration." 

"  Mr.  Plank,  if  you  are  not  inclined  to  be  ser 
ious " 

"  I  flra,"  said  Plank  so  savagely  that  Quarrier, 
startled,  could  not  doubt  him.  "  I  like  this  sort  of  thing, 
Mr.  Quarrier.  Anything  that  is  hard  to  overcome,  I 
like  to  overcome.  The  pleasure  in  life,  to  me,  is  to 
win  out.  I  am  fighting  you  with  the  greatest  possible 
satisfaction  to  myself." 

"  Perhaps  you  see  victory  ahead,"  said  Quarrier 
calmly. 

"  I  do,  Mr.  Quarrier,  I  do.  But  not  in  the  manner 
you  fear  I  may  hope  for  it." 

"  Do  you  mind  saying  in  what  manner  you  are  al 
ready  discounting  your  victory,  Mr  Plank?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  mind  telling  you.  I  have  no  batteries 
to  mask.  I  don't  care  how  much  you  know  about  my 
resources;  so  I'll  tell  you  what  I  see,  Mr.  Quarrier.  I 
see  a  parody  of  the  popular  battle  between  razor-back 
and  rattler.  The  rattler  only  strives  to  strike  and  kill,  not 
to  swallow.  Mr.  Quarrier,  that  old  razor-back  isn't 
going  home  hungry ;  but — he's  gomg  home." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  am  not  familiar  enough  with  the  nat 
ural  history  you  quote  to  follow  you,"  said  Quarrier 

393 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

with  a  sneer,  his  long  fingers  busy  with  the  silky  point 
of  his  beard. 

"  No,  you  won't  follow  me  home ;  you'll  come  with 
me,  when  it's  all  over.  Now  is  it  very  plain  to  you, 
Mr.  Quarrier?  " 

Quarrier  said,  without  emotion :  "  I  repeat  that  it 
would  be  easy  for  you  and  me  to  merge  our  differences 
an  a  basis  absolutely  satisfactory  to  you  and  to  me 
— and  to  Harrington." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Plank,  rising.  "  Good 
afternoon." 

Quarrier  rose,  too.  "  You  decline  to  discuss  the  mat 
ter?  "  he  asked. 

"  It  has  been  discussed  sufficiently." 

"Then  why  did  you  come  here?" 

"  To  see  for  myself  how  afraid  of  me  you  really 
are,"  said  Plank.  "  Now  I  know,  and  so  do  you." 

"  You  desire  to  make  it  a  personal  matter?  "  in 
quired  Quarrier,  in  a  low  voice,  his  face  dead  white  in 
the  late  sunlight  which  illuminated  the  room. 

"Personal?  No — impersonal;  because  there  could 
be  absolutely  nothing  personal  between  us,  Mr.  Quarrier; 
and  the  only  thing  in  the  world  that  there  ought  to 
be  between  us  are  a  few  stout,  steel  bars.  Beg  pardon 
for  talking  shop.  I'm  a  shopkeeper,  and  I'm  in  the 
steel  business,  and  I  lack  opportunities  for  cultivation. 
Good  day." 

"  Mr.  Plank " 

"  Mr.  Quarrier,  I  want  to  tell  you  something.  Never 
before,  in  business  differences,  has  private  indignation 
against  any  individual  interfered  or  modified  my  course 
of  action.  It  does  now;  but  it  does  not  dictate  my 
policy  toward  you ;  it  merely,  as  I  say,  modifies  it.  I 
am  perfectly  aware  of  what  I  am  doing;  what  social 

394 


"•Take    your    fighting    chance — it    is    the    cleanest    thing 
you  ever  touched  !  '  " 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


disaster  I  am  inviting  by  this  attitude  toward  you  per 
sonally  ;  what  financial  destruction  I  am  courting  in 
arousing  the  wrath  of  the  Algonquin  Trust  Company 
and  of  the  powerful  interests  intrenched  behind  Inter- 
County  Electric.  I  know  what  the  lobby  is;  I  know 
what  judge  cannot  be  counted  on;  I  know  my  peril 
and  my  chances,  every  one;  and  I  take  them — every 
one.  For  it  is  a  good  fight,  Mr.  Quarrier;  it  will  be 
talked  of  for  years  to  come,  wonderingly;  not  be 
cause  of  your  effrontery,  not  because  of  my  obstinacy, 
but  because  such  monstrous  immorality  could  ever  have 
existed  in  this  land  of  ours.  Your  name,  Harrington's, 
mine,  will  have  become  utterly  forgotten  long,  long  be 
fore  the  horror  of  these  present  conditions  shall  cease 
to  be  remembered." 

He  stretched  out  one  ponderous  arm,  pointing  full 
between  Quarrier's  unwinking  eyes. 

"  Take  your  fighting  chance — it  is  the  cleanest  thing 
you  ever  touched;  and  use  it  cleanly,  or  there'll  be  no 
mercy  shown  you  when  your  time  comes.  Let  the  courts 
alone — da  you  hear  me?  Let  the  legislature  alone. 
Keep  your  manicured  hands  off  the  ermine.  And  tell 
Harrington  to  shove  his  own  cold,  splay  fingers  into  his 
own  pockets  for  a  change.  They'll  be  warmer  than  his 
feet  by  this  time  next  year." 

For  a  moment  he  towered  there,  powerful,  bulky, 
menacing ;  then  his  arm  dropped  heavily — the  old  stolid 
expression  came  back  into  his  face,  leaving  it  calm,  bo 
vine,  almost  stupid  again.  And  he  turned,  moving  slowly 
toward  the  door,  holding  his  hat  carefully  in  his  gloved 
hand. 

Stepping  out  of  the  elevator  on  the  ground  floor 
he  encountered  Mortimer,  and  halted  instinctively.  He 
had  not  seen  Mortimer  for  weeks;  neither  had  Leila; 

395 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

and  now  he  looked  at  him  inquiringly,  disturbed  at  his 
battered   and  bloodshot  appearance. 

"  Oh,"  said  Mortimer,  "  you  down  here?  " 

"  Have  you  been  out  of  town  ?  "  asked  Plank  cau 
tiously. 

Mortimer  nodded,  and  started  to  pass  on  toward  the 
bronze  cage  of  the  elevator,  but  something  seemed  to 
occur  to  him  suddenly ;  he  checked  his  pace,  turned,  and 
waddled  after  Plank,  rejoining  him  on  the  marble  steps 
of  the  rotunda. 

"  See  here,"  he  panted,  holding  Plank  by  the  elbow 
and  breathing  heavily  even  after  the  short  chase  across 
the  lobby,  "  I  meant  to  tell  you  something.  Come  over 
here  and  sit  down  a  moment." 

Still  grasping  Plank's  elbow  in  his  puffy  fingers,  he 
directed  him  toward  a  velvet  seat  in  a  corner  of  the 
lobby ;  and  here  they  sat  down,  while  Mortimer  mopped 
his  fat  neck  with  his  handkerchief,  swearing  at  the  heat 
under  his  breath. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said ;  "  I  promised  you  something 
once,  didn't  I?" 

"  Did  you  ?  "  said  Plank,  with  his  bland,  expression 
less  stare  of  an  overgrown  baby. 

"  Oh,  cut  that  out !  You  know  damn  well  I  did ;  and 
when  I  say  a  thing  I  make  good.  D'ye  see?  " 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  Plank,  "  what  you  are  talking 
about." 

"  I'm  talking  about  what  I  said  I'd  do  for  you. 
Haven't  I  made  good?  Haven't  I  put  you  into  every 
thing  I  said  I  would?  Don't  you  go  everywhere?  Don't 
people  ask  you  everywhere?  " 

"  Yes — in  a  way,"  said  Plank  wearily.  "  I  am  very 
grateful ;  I  always  will  be.  ...  Can  I  do  anything  for 
you,  Leroy  ?  " 

396 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


Mortimer  became  indignant  at  the  implied  distrust 
of  the  purity  of  his  motives ;  and  Plank,  failing  to  stem 
the  maudlin  tirade,  relapsed  into  patient  silence,  spec 
ulating  within  himself  as  to  what  it  could  be  that  Mor 
timer  wanted. 

It  came  out  presently.  Mortimer  had  attended  a 
"  killing "  at  Desmond's,  and,  as  usual,  had  provided 
the  piece  de  resistance  for  his  soft-voiced  host.  All  he 
wanted  was  a  temporary  deposit  to  tide  over  matters. 
He  had  never  approached  Plank  in  vain,  and  he  did  not 
do  so  now,  for  Plank  had  a  pocket  cheque-book  and  a 
stylograph. 

"  It's  damn  little  to  ask,  isn't  it?  "  he  muttered  re 
sentfully.  "  That  will  only  square  matters  with  Des 
mond;  it  doesn't  leave  me  anything  to  go  on  with," 
and  he  pocketed  his  cheque  with  a  scowl. 

Plank  was  discreetly  silent. 

"  And  that  is  not  what  I  chased  you  for,  either," 
continued  Mortimer.  "  I  didn't  intend  to  say  anything 
about  Desmond ;  I  was  going  to  fix  it  in  another  way !  " 
He  cast  an  involuntary  and  sinister  glance  at  the  eleva 
tors  gliding  ceaselessly  up  and  down  at  the  end  of  the 
vast  marble  rotunda;  then  his  protruding  eyes  sought 
Plank's  again: 

"  Beverly,  old  boy,  I've  got  a  certain  mealy-faced 
hypocrite  where  any  decent  man  would  like  to  have  him — 
by  the  scruff  of  his  neck.  He's  fit  only  to  kick;  and 
I'm  going  to  kick  him  good  and  plenty ;  and  in  the 
process  he's  going  to  let  go  of  several  things."  Mor 
timer  leered,  pleased  with  his  own  similes,  then  added 
rather  hastily :  "  I  mean,  he's  going  to  drop  several 
things  that  don't  belong  to  him.  Leave  it  to  me  to 
shake  him  down ;  he'll  drop  them  all  right.  .  .  .  One  of 
'em's  yours." 

397 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Plank  looked  at  him. 

"  I  told  you  once  that  I'd  let  you  know  when  to 
step  up  and  say  '  Good  evening'  didn't  I?  " 

Plank  continued  to  stare. 

"Didn't  I?"  repeated  Mortimer  peevishly,  begin 
ning  to  lose  countenance. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Plank,  "  and  I  don't 
think  I  want  to  understand  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  demanded  Mortimer  thickly ; 
"  don't  you  want  to  marry  that  girl !  "  but  he  shrank 
dismayed  under  the  slow  blaze  that  lighted  Plank's  blue 
eyes. 

"  All  right,"  he  stammered,  struggling  to  his  fat 
legs  and  instinctively  backing  away ;  "  I  thought  you 
meant  business.  I — what  the  devil  do  I  care  who  you 
marry !  It's  the  last  time  I  try  to  do  anything  for 
you,  or  for  anybody  else !  Mark  that,  my  friend.  I've 
plenty  to  worry  over;  I've  a  lot  to  keep  me  busy  with 
out  lying  awake  to  figure  out  how  to  do  kindnesses  to 
old  friends.  Damn  this  ingratitude,  anyway  !  " 

Plank  gazed  at  him  for  a  moment;  the  anger  in 
his  face  had  died  out. 

"  I  am  not  ungrateful,"  he  said.  "  You  may  say 
almost  anything  except  that,  Leroy.  I  am  not  dis 
loyal,  no  matter  what  else  I  may  be.  But  you  have 
made  a  bad  mistake.  You  made  it  that  day  at  Black 
Fells  when  you  offered  to  interfere.  I  supposed  you 
understood  then  that  I  could  never  tolerate  from  any 
body  anything  of  such  a  nature.  It  appears  that  you 
didn't.  However,  you  understand  it  now.  So  let  us 
forget  the  matter." 

But  Mortimer,  keenly  appreciative  of  the  pleasures 
of  being  misunderstood,  squeezed  some  moisture  out  of 
his  distended  eyes,  and  sat  down,  a  martyr  to  his  emo- 

398 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


tions.  "  To  think,"  he  gulped,  "  that  you,  of  all  men, 
should  turn  on  me  like  this ! " 

"  I  didn't  mean  to.  Can't  you  understand,  Leroy, 
that  you  hurt  me?  " 

"  Hurt  hell !  "  retorted  Mortimer  vindictively. 
"  You've  had  sensation  battered  out  of  you  by  this 
time.  I  guess  society  has  landed  you  a  few  while  I  was 
boosting  you  over  the  outworks.  Don't  play  that  old 
con  game  on  me!  You  tried  to  get  her  and  you 
couldn't.  Now  I  come  along  and  offer  to  put  you 
next  and  you  yell  about  your  hurt  feelings !  Oh, 
splash!  There's  another  lady,  that's  all." 

"  Let  it  go  at  that,  then,"  said  Plank,  reddening. 

"  But  I  tell  you " 

"  Drop  it!  "  snapped  Plank. 

"  Oh,  very  well !  if  you're  going  to  take  it  that 
way  again " 

"  I  am.  Cut  it !  And  now  let  me  ask  you  a  ques 
tion:  Where  were  you  going  when  I  met  you?  " 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know  for?  "  asked  Mortimer 
sullenly. 

"  Why,  I'll  tell  you,  Leroy.  If  you  have  any  idea 
of  identifying  yourself  with  Quarrier's  people,  of  seek 
ing  him  at  this  juncture  with  the  expectation  of  investing 
any  money  in  his  schemes,  you  had  better  not  do  so." 

"  Investing !  "  sneered  Mortimer.  "  Well,  no,  not 
exactly,  having  nothing  to  invest,  thanks  to  my  being 
swindled  into  joining  his  Amalgamated  Electric  gang. 
Don't  worry.  If  there's  any  shaking  down  to  be  done, 
I'll  do  it,  my  friend,"  and  he  rose,  and  started  toward 
the  elevators. 

"Wait,"  said  Plank.  "Why,  man,  you  can't 
frighten  Quarrier!  What  did  you  sell  your  holdings 
for?  Why  didn't  you  come  to  us — to  me?  What's  the 

399 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

use  of  going  to  Quarrier  now,  and  scolding?  You  can't 
scare  a  man  like  that." 

Mortimer  fairly  grinned  in  his  face. 

"  Your  big  mistake,"  he  sneered,  "  is  in  undervaluing 
others.  You  don't  think  I  amount  to  very  much,  do 
you,  Beverly?  But  I'm  going  to  try  to  take  care  of 
myself  all  the  same."  He  laughed,  showing  his  big  teeth, 
and  the  vanity  in  him  began  to  drug  him.  "  No,  you 
think  I  don't  know  much.  But  men  like  you  and  Quar 
rier  will  damn  soon  find  out!  I  want  you  to  under 
stand,"  he  went  on  excitedly,  forgetting  the  instinctive 
caution  which  in  saner  moments  he  was  only  too  certain 
that  his  present  business  required — "  I  want  you  to 
understand  a  few  things,  my  friend,  and  one  of  them 
is  that  I'm  not  afraid  of  Quarrier,  and  another  is,  I'm 
not  afraid  of  you !  " 

"  Leroy " 

"  No,  not  afraid  of  you,  either !  "  repeated  Mortimer 
with  an  ugly  stare.  "  Don't  try  any  of  your  smug, 
aint-it-a-shame-he-drinks  ways  on  me,  Beverly!  I'm 
getting  tired  of  it;  I'm  tired  of  it  now,  by  God!  You 
keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head  after  this — do  you 
understand? — and  we'll  get  on  all  right.  If  you  don't, 
I've  the  means  to  make  you !  " 

"  Are  you  crazy  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !  Too  damn  sane  for  you  and  Leila 
to  hoodwink !  " 

"  You  are  crazy !  "  repeated  Plank,  aghast. 

"  Am  I  ?  You  and  Leila  can  take  the  matter  into 
court,  if  you  want  to — unless  /  do.  And  " — here  he 
leaned  forward,  showing  his  teeth  again — "  the  next 
time  you  kiss  her,  close  the  door !  " 

Then  he  went  away  up  the  marble  steps  and  entered 
an  elevator;  and  Plank,  grave  and  pale,  went  out  into 

400 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


the  street  and  entered  his  big  touring-car.  But  the  drive 
up  town  and  through  the  sunlit  park  gave  him  no 
pleasure,  and  he  entered  his  great  house  with  a  heavy, 
lifeless  step,  head  bent,  as  though  counting  every  crevice 
in  the  stones  under  his  lagging  feet.  For  the  first  time 
in  all  his  life  he  was  afraid  of  a  man. 

The  man  he  was  afraid  of  had  gone  directly  to 
Quarrier's  office,  missing  the  gentleman  he  was  seeking 
by  such  a  small  fraction  of  a  minute  that  he  realised 
they  must  have  passed  one  another  in  the  elevators,  he 
ascending  while  Quarrier  was  descending. 

Mortimer  turned  and  hurried  to  the  elevator,  hop 
ing  to  come  up  with  Quarrier  in  the  rotunda,  or 
possibly  in  the  street  outside;  but  he  was  too  late, 
and,  furious  to  think  of  the  time  he  had  wasted  with 
Plank,  he  crawled  into  a  hansom  and  bade  the  driver 
take  him  to  a  number  he  gave,  designating  one  of 
the  new  limestone  basement  houses  on  the  upper  west 
side. 

All  the  way  up  town,  as  he  jolted  about  in  his 
seat,  he  angrily  regretted  the  meeting  with  Plank,  even 
in  spite  of  the  cheque.  What  demon  had  possessed  him 
to  boast — to  display  his  hand  when  there  had  been  no 
necessity?  Plank  was  still  ready  to  give  him  aid  at 
a  crisis — had  always  been  ready.  Time  enough  when 
Plank  turned  stingy  to  use  persuasion ;  time  enough 
when  Plank  attempted  to  dodge  him  to  employ  a  club. 
And  now,  for  no  earthly  reason,  intoxicated  with  his 
own  vanity,  catering  to  his  own  long-smouldering  re 
sentment,  he  had  used  his  club  on  a  willing  horse — 
deliberately  threatened  a  man  whose  gratitude  had  been 
good  for  many  a  cheque  yet. 

"  Ass  that  I  am !  "  fumed  Mortimer ;  "  now  when 
401 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

I'm  stuck  I'll  have  to  go  at  him  with  the  club,  if  I 
want  any  money  out  of  him.  Confound  him,  he's 
putting  me  in  a  false  position!  He's  trying  to  make 
it  look  like  extortion!  I  won't  do  it!  I'm  no  black 
mailer!  I'll  starve,  before  I  go  to  him  again!  No 
blundering,  clumsy  Dutchman  can  make  a  blackmailer 
out  of  me  by  holding  hands  with  that  scoundrelly  wife 
of  mine!  That's  the  reason  he  did  it,  too!  Between 
them  they  are  trying  to  make  my  loans  from  Plank  look 
like  blackmail!  It  would  serve  them  right  if  I  took 
them  up — if  I  called  their  bluff,  and  stuck  Plank  up  in 
earnest !  But  I  won't,  to  please  them !  I  won't  do  any 
dirty  thing  like  that,  to  humour  them !  Not  much !  " 

He  lay  back,  rolling  about  in  the  jouncing  cab, 
scowling  at  space. 

"Not  much!"  he  repeated.  "I'll  shake  down 
Quarrier,  though !  I'll  make  him  pay  for  his  treachery 
— scaring  me  out  of  Amalgamated !  That  will  be  resti 
tution,  not  extortion !  " 

He  was  the  angrier  because  he  had  been  for  days 
screwing  up  his  courage  to  the  point  of  seeking  Quar 
rier  face  to  face.  He  had  not  wished  to  do  it ;  the  scene, 
and  his  own  attitude  in  it,  could  only  be  repugnant  to 
him,  although  he  continually  explained  to  himself  that 
it  was  restitution,  not  extortion. 

But  whatever  it  was,  he  didn't  like  to  figure  in  it, 
and  he  had  hung  back  as  long  as  circumstances  per 
mitted.  But  his  new  lodgings  and  his  new  friends  were 
expensive;  and  Plank,  he  supposed,  was  off  somewhere 
fishing ;  so  he  hung  on  as  long  as  it  was  possible ;  then, 
exasperated  by  necessity,  started  for  Quarrier's  office, 
only  to  miss  him  by  a  few  second^  because  he  was  fool 
enough  to  waste  his  temper  and  his  opportunity  in 
making  an  enemy  out  of  a  friend! 

402 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


"  Oh,"  he  groaned,  "  what  an  ass  I  am !  "  And  he 
got  out  of  his  cab  in  front  of  a  very  new  limestone 
basement  house  with  red  geraniums  blooming  on  the 
window-sills,  and  let  himself  in  with  a  latch-key. 

The  interior  of  the  house  was  attractive  in  a  rather 
bright,  new,  clean  fashion.  There  seemed  to  be  a  great 
deal  of  white  wood-work  about,  a  wilderness  of  slender 
white  spindles  supporting  the  dark,  rich  mahogany  hand 
rail  of  the  stairway;  elaborate  white  grilles  between 
snowy,  Corinthian  pillars  separating  the  hall  from  the 
drawing-room,  where  a  pale  gilt  mirror  over  a  white, 
colonial  mantel  reflected  a  glass  chandelier  and  panelled 
walls  hung  with  pale  blue  silk. 

All  was  new,  very  clean,  very  quiet;  the  maid,  too, 
who  appeared  at  the  sound  of  the  closing  door  and  took 
his  hat  and  gloves  was  as  newly  groomed  as  the  floors 
and  wood-work,  and  so  noiseless  as  to  be  conspicuous 
in  her  swift,  silent  movements. 

Yet  there  was  something  about  it  all — about  the 
bluish  silvery  half-light,  the  spotless  floors  and  walls,  the 
abnormally  noiseless  maid  in  her  flamboyant  cap  and 
apron — that  arrested  attention  and  fixed  it.  The  sound 
less  brightness  of  the  house  was  as  conspicuous  as  the 
contrast  between  the  maid's  black  gown  and  her  snow- 
white  cuffs.  There  was  nothing  subdued  about  anything, 
although  the  long,  silvery  blue  curtains  were  drawn  over 
the  lace  window  hangings;  no  shadows  anywhere,  no 
half-lights.  The  very  stillness  was  gay  with  suspense, 
like  a  pretty  woman's  suppressed  laughter  glimmering 
in  her  eyes. 

And  into  this  tinted  light,  framed  in  palest  blue  and 
white,  waddled  Mortimer,  appropriate  as  a  June-bug 
scrambling  in  a  Sevres  teacup. 

"  Anybody  here? "  he  growled,  leering  into  the 
403 


THE    FIGHTING    CHANCE 

drawing-room  at  a  tiny  grand  piano  cased  in  unvar 
nished  Circassian  walnut. 

"  There  is  nobody  at  home,  sir,"  said  the  maid. 

"  Music  lesson  over?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  at  three." 

He  began  to  ascend  the  stairway,  breathing  heavily, 
thud,  thud  over  the  deep  velvet  strip,  his  fat  hand 
grasping  the  banister  rail. 

Somewhere  on  the  second  floor  a  small  dog  barked, 
and  Mortimer  traversed  the  hall  and  opened  the  door 
into  a  room  hung  with  gold  Spanish  leather  and  pale 
green  curtains. 

"  Hello,  Tinto ! "  he  said  affably  as  a  tiny  Japanese 
spaniel  hurled  herself  at  him,  barking  furiously,  then 
began  writhing  and  weaving  herself  about  him,  gurgling 
recognition  and  welcome. 

He  sat  down  heavily  in  a  padded  easy-chair.  The 
spaniel  sprang  into  his  lap,  wheezing,  sniffling,  goggling 
its  protruding  eyes.  Mortimer  liked  the  dog,  but  he 
didn't  like  what  the  owner  of  the  dog  said  about  the 
resemblance  between  his  own  and  Tinto's  eyes. 

"  Get  down !  "  he  said ;  "  you're  shedding  black  and 
white  hairs  all  over  me."  But  the  dog  didn't  want  to 
get  down,  and  Mortimer's  good  nature  permitted  her  to 
curl  up  on  his  fat  knees  and  sleep  that  nervous,  twitch 
ing  sleep  peculiar  to  overpampered  toy  canines. 

The  southern  sun  was  warm  in  the  room;  the  win 
dows  open,  but  not  a  silken  hanging  stirred. 

Presently  another  maid  entered,  with  an  apple  cut 
into  thin  wafers  and  a  decanter  of  port;  and  Mortimer 
lay  back  in  his  chair,  sopping  his  apple  in  the  thick, 
crimson  wine,  and  feeding  morsels  of  the  combination 
to  himself  and  to  Tinto  at  intervals  until  the  apple  was 
all  gone  and  the  decanter  three-fourths  empty. 

404 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


It  was  very  still  in  the  room — so  still,  that  Mortimer, 
opening  his  eyes  at  longer  and  longer  intervals  to  peer 
at  the  door,  finally  opened  them  no  more. 

The  droning  gurgle  that  he  made  kept  Tinto  awake. 
When  his  lower  jaw  sagged,  and  he  began  to  really  show 
what  snoring  could  be,  Tinto,  very  nervous,  got  up  and 
hopped  down. 

It  was  still  daylight  when  Mortimer  awoke,  conscious 
of  people  about  him.  As  he  opened  his  eyes,  a  man 
laughed;  several  people  seated  by  the  windows  joined  in. 
Then,  straightening  up  with  an  effort,  something  tum 
bled  from  his  head  to  the  floor  and  he  started  to  rise. 

"  Oh,  look  out,  Leroy !  Don't  step  on  my  hat !  " 
cried  a  girl's  voice ;  and  he  sank  back  in  his  chair,  gazing 
stupidly  around. 

"  Hello !  you  people !  "  he  said,  amused ;  "  I  guess 
I've  been  asleep.  Oh,  is  that  you  Millbank?  Whose 
hat  was  that — yours,  Lydia?  " 

He  yawned,  laughed,  turning  his  heavy  eyes  from 
one  to  another,  recognising  a  couple  of  young  girls  at 
the  window.  He  didn't  want  to  get  up;  but  there  is, 
in  the  society  he  now  adorned,  a  stringency  of  etiquette 
known  as  "  refinement,"  and  which,  to  ignore,  is  to  be 
come  unpopular. 

So  he  got  onto  his  massive  legs  and  went  over  to 
shake  hands  with  a  gravity  becoming  the  ceremony. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Miss  Hutchinson  ?  Thought  you 
were  at  Asbury  Park.  How  de  do,  Miss  Del  Garcia. 
Have  you  been  out  in  Millbank's  motor  yet?  " 

"  We  broke  down  at  McGowan's  Pass,"  said  Miss 
Del  Garcia,  laughing  the  laugh  that  had  made  her  so 
attractive  in  "  A  Word  to  the  Wise." 

"  Muddy  gasoline,"  nodded  Millbank  tersely — an 
405 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

iron-jawed,  over-groomed  man  of  forty,  with  a  florid 
face  shaved  blue. 

"  We  passed  Mr.  Plank's  big  touring-car,"  observed 
Lydia  Vyse,  shifting  Tinto  to  the  couch  and  brushing 
the  black  and  white  hairs  from  her  automobile  coat. 
"  How  much  does  a  car  like  that  cost,  Leroy  ?  " 

"  About  twenty-five  thousand,"  he  said  gloomily. 
Then,  looking  up,  "  Hold  on,  Millbank,  don't  be  going ! 
Why  can't  you  all  dine  with  us  ?  Never  mind  your  car ; 
ours  is  all  right,  and  we'll  run  out  into  the  country  for 
dinner.  How  about  it,  Miss  Del  Garcia?  " 

But  both  Miss  Del  Garcia  and  Miss  Hutchinson  had 
accepted  another  invitation,  in  which  Millbank  was  also 
included. 

They  stood  about,  veils  floating,  leather  decorated 
coats  thrown  back,  lingering  for  awhile  to  talk  the 
garage  talk  which  fascinates  people  of  their  type ;  then 
Millbank  looked  at  the  clock,  made  his  adieux  to  Lydia, 
nodded  significantly  to  Mortimer,  and  followed  the 
others  down-stairs. 

There  was  something  amiss  with  his  motor,  for  it 
made  a  startling  racket  in  the  street,  finally  plunging 
forward  with  a  kick. 

Lydia  laughed  as  the  two  young  girls  in  the  tonneau 
turned  to  nod  to  her  in  mock  despair;  then  she  came 
running  back  up-stairs,  holding  her  skirt  free  from  her 
hurrying  little  feet. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  inquired,  as  Mortimer  turned  back 
from  the  window  to  confront  her. 

"  Nothing  doing,  little  girl,"  he  said  with  a  sombre 
smile. 

She  looked  at  him,  slowly  digesting  herself  of  her 
light  leather-trimmed  coat. 

"  I  missed  him,"  said  Mortimer. 
406 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


She  flung  the  coat  over  a  chair,  stood  a  moment,  her 
fingers  busy  with  her  hair-pegs,  then  sat  down  on  the 
couch,  taking  Tinto  into  her  lap.  She  was  very  pretty, 
dark,  slim,  marvellously  graceful  in  her  every  movement. 

"  I  missed  him,"  repeated  Mortimer. 

"  Can't  you  see  him  to-morrow?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Mortimer  slowly.  "  Oh,  Lord ! 
how  I  hate  this  business ! " 

"  Hasn't  he  misused  your  confidence?  Hasn't  he 
taken  your  money  ?  "  she  asked.  "  It  may  be  unpleasant 
for  you  to  make  him  unbelt,  but  you're  a  coward  if  you 
don't!" 

"  Easy !  easy,  now !  "  muttered  Mortimer ;  "  I'm 
going  to  shake  it  out  of  him.  I  said  I  would,  and  I 
will." 

"  I  should  hope  so ;  it's  yours." 

"  Certainly  it's  mine.  I  wish  I'd  held  fast  now.  I 
never  supposed  Plank  would  take  hold.  It  was  that 
drivelling  old  Belwether  who  scared  me  stiff !  The  minute 
I  saw  him  scurrying  to  cover  like  a  singed  cat  I  was 
fool  enough  to  climb  the  first  tree.  I've  had  my  lesson, 
little  girl." 

"  I  hope  you'll  give  Howard  his.  Somebody  ought 
to,"  she  said  quietly. 

Then  gathering  up  her  hat  and  coat  she  went  into 
her  own  apartments.  Mortimer  picked  up  a  cheap  maga 
zine,  looked  over  the  portraits  of  the  actresses,  then, 
hunching  up  into  a  comfortable  position,  settled  himself 
to  read  the  theatrical  comment. 

Later,  Lydia  not  appearing,  and  his  own  valet  ar 
riving  to  turn  on  the  electricity,  bring  him  his  White 
Rock  and  Irish  and  the  Evening  Telegraph,  he  hoisted 
his  legs  into  another  chair  and  sprawled  there  luxuriously 
over  his  paper  until  it  was  time  to  dress. 
27  407 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

About  half  past  eight  they  dined  in  a  white  and 
pink  dining-room  furnished  in  dull  gray  walnut,  and 
served  by  a  stealthy,  white-haired,  pink-skinned  butler, 
chiefly  remarkable  because  it  seemed  utterly  impossible 
to  get  a  glimpse  of  his  eyes.  Nobody  could  tell  whether 
there  was  anything  the  matter  with  them  or  not — and 
whether  they  were  only  very  deep  set  or  were  weak,  like 
an  albino's,  or  were  slightly  crossed,  the  guests  of  the 
house  never  knew.  Lydia  herself  didn't  know,  and  had 
given  up  trying  to  find  out. 

They  had  planned  to  go  for  a  spin  in  Mortimer's 
motor  after  dinner,  but  in  view  of  the  Quarrier  fiasco 
neither  was  in  the  mood  for  anything. 

Mortimer,  as  usual,  ate  and  drank  heavily.  He  was 
a  carnivorous  man,  and  liked  plenty  of  thick,  fat,  under 
done  meat.  As  for  Lydia,  her  appetite  was  as  erratic 
as  her  own  impulses.  Her  table,  always  wastefully 
elaborate,  no  doubt  furnished  subsistence  for  all  the  rela 
tives  of  her  household  below  stairs,  and  left  sufficient 
for  any  ambitious  butler  to  make  a  decent  profit  on. 

"  Do  you  know,  Leroy,"  she  observed,  as  they  left 
the  table  and  sauntered  back  into  the  pale  blue  drawing- 
room,  "  do  you  know  that  the  servants  haven't  been 
paid  for  three  months  ?  " 

"  Oh,  for  Heaven's  sake,"  he  expostulated,  "  don't 
begin  that  sort  of  thing !  I  get  enough  of  that  at  home ; 
I  get  it  every  time  I  show  my  nose !  " 

"  I  only  mentioned  it,"  she  said  carelessly. 

"  I  heard  you  all  right.  It  isn't  any  pleasanter  for 
me  than  for  you.  In  fact,  I'm  sick  of  it ;  I'm  dead  tired 
of  being  up  against  it  every  day  of  my  life.  When  a  man 
has  anything  somebody  gets  it  before  he  can  side-step. 
When  a  man's  dead  broke  there's  nobody  in  sight  to 
touch." 

408 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


"  You  had  an  opportunity  to  make  Howard  pay  you 
back." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  I  missed  him?  " 

"  Yes.     What  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

"Do?" 

"  Of  course.  You  are  going  to  do  something,  I 
suppose." 

They  had  reached  the  gold  and  green  room  above. 
Lydia  began  pacing  the  length  of  a  beautiful  Kerman- 
shah  rug — a  pale,  delicate  marvel  of  rose  and  green  on 
a  ground  of  ivory — lovely,  but  doomed  to  fade  sooner 
than  the  pretty  woman  who  trod  it  with  restless,  silk- 
shod  feet. 

Mortimer  had  not  responded  to  her  last  question. 
She  said  presently :  "  You  have  never  told  me  how  you 
intend  to  make  him  pay  you  back." 

"  What?  "  inquired  Mortimer,  turning  very  red. 

"  I  said  that  you  haven't  yet  told  me  how  you  intend 
to  make  Howard  return  the  money  you  lost  through  his 
juggling  with  your  stock." 

"  I  don't  exactly  know  myself,"  admitted  Morti 
mer,  still  overflushed.  "  I  mean  to  put  it  to  him 
squarely,  as  a  debt  of  honour  that  he  owes.  I  asked 
him  whether  to  invest.  Damn  him!  he  never  warned 
me  not  to.  He  is  morally  responsible.  Any  man 
who  would  sit  there  and  nod  monotonously  like  a  man 
darin,  knowing  all  the  while  what  he  was  doing  to 
wreck  the  company,  and  let  a  friend  put  into  a  rotten 
concern  all  the  cash  he  could  scrape  together,  is  a 
swindler !  " 

"  I  think  so  too,"  she  said,  studying  the  rose 
arabesques  in  the  rug. 

There  was  a  little  click  of  her  teeth  when  she  ended 
her  inspection  and  looked  across  at  Mortimer.  Some- 

409 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

thing  in  her  expressionless  gaze  seemed  to  reassure  him, 
and  give  him  a  confidence  he  may  have  lacked. 

"  I  want  him  to  understand  that  I  won't  swallow  that 
sort  of  contemptible  treatment,"  asserted  Mortimer, 
lighting  a  thick,  dark  cigar. 

"  I  hope  you'll  make  him  understand,"  she  said,  seat 
ing  herself  and  resting  her  clasped,  brilliantly  ringed 
hands  in  her  lap. 

"  Oh,  I  will — never  fear!  He  has  abused  my  confi 
dence  abominably  ;  he  has  practically  swindled  me,  Lydia. 
Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  I'll  tell  him  so,  too,"  blustered  Mortimer,  shaking 
himself  into  an  upright  posture,  and  laying  a  pudgy, 
clinched  fist  on  the  table.  "  I'm  not  afraid  of  him  !  He'll 
find  that  out,  too.  I  know  enough  to  stagger  him.  Not 
that  I  mean  to  use  it.  I'm  not  going  to  have  him  think 
that  my  demands  on  him  for  my  own  property  resemble 
extortion." 

"  Extortion?  "  she  repeated. 

"  Yes.  I  don't  want  him  to  think  I'm  trying  to 
intimidate  him.  I  won't  have  him  think  I'm  a  grafter; 
but  I've  half  a  mind  to  shake  that  money  out  of  him, 
in  one  way  or  another." 

He  struck  the  table  and  looked  at  her  for  further 
sign  of  approval. 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  him,"  he  repeated.  "  I  wish  to 
God  he  were  here,  and  I'd  tell  him  so !  " 

She  said  coolly :  "  I  was  wishing  that  too." 

For  a  while  they  sat  silent,  preoccupied,  avoiding  each 
other's  direct  gaze.  When  she  rose  he  started,  watching 
her  in  a  dazed  way  as  she  walked  to  the  telephone. 

"  Shall  I  ?  "  she  asked  quietly,  turning  to  him,  her 
hand  on  the  receiver. 

410 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


"  Wait.  W-what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  he  stam 
mered. 

"Call  him  up.    Shall  I?" 

A  dull  throb  of  fright  pulsed  through  him. 

"  You  say  you  are  not  afraid  of  him,  Leroy." 

"  No !  "  he  said  with  an  oath,  "  I  am  not.  Go 
ahead!" 

She  unhooked  the  receiver.  After  a  second  or  two 
her  low,  even  voice  sounded.  There  came  a  pause.  She 
rested  one  elbow  on  the  walnut  shelf,  the  receiver  tight 
to  her  ear.  Then : 

"  Mr.  Quarrier,  please.  .  .  .  Yes,  Mr.  Howard 
Quarrier.  .  .  .  No,  no  name.  Say  it  is  on  business  of 
immediate  importance.  .  .  .  Very  well,  then;  you  may 
say  that  Miss  Vyse  insists  on  speaking  to  him.  .  .  .  Yes, 
I'll  hold  the  wire." 

She  turned,  the  receiver  at  her  ear,  and  looked  nar 
rowly  at  Mortimer. 

"  Won't  he  speak  to  you  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I'm  going  to  find  out.  Hush  a  moment !  "  and 
in  the  same  calm,  almost  childish  voice:  "  Oh,  Howard, 
is  that  you?  Yes,  I  know  I  promised  not  to  do  this, 
but  that  was  before  things  happened !  .  .  .  Well,  what 
am  I  to  do  when  it  is  necessary  to  talk  to  you?  .  .  . 
Yes,  it  is  necessary!  ...  I  tell  you  it  is  necessary! 
...  I  am  sorry  it  is  not  convenient  for  you  to  talk 
to  me,  but  I  really  must  ask  you  to  listen !  .  .  .  No,  I 
shall  not  write.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  to-night — now! 
Yes,  you  may  come  here,  if  you  care  to !  ...  I  think 
you  had  better  come,  Howard.  .  .  .  Because  I  am  liable 
to  continue  ringing  your  telephone  until  you  are  willing 
to  listen.  .  .  .  No,  there  is  nobody  here.  I  am  alone. 
What  time  ?  .  .  .  Very  well ;  I  shall  expect  you.  Good 
bye." 

411 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

She  hung  up  the  receiver  and  turned  to  Mor 
timer  : 

"  He's  coming  up  at  once.  Did  I  say  anything  to 
scare  him  particularly  ?  " 

"  One  thing's  sure  as  preaching,"  said  Mortimer ; 
"  he's  a  coward,  and  I'm  damned  glad  of  it,"  he  added 
naively,  relighting  his  cigar,  which  had  gone  out. 

"  If  he  comes  up  in  his  motor  he'll  be  here  in  a 
few  minutes,"  she  said.  "  Suppose  you  take  your  hat 
and  go  out.  I  don't  want  him  to  think  what  he  will  think 
if  he  walks  into  the  room  and  finds  you  waiting.  You 
have  your  key,  Leroy.  Walk  down  the  block ;  and  when 
you  see  him  come  in,  give  him  five  minutes." 

Her  voice  had  become  a  little  breathless,  and  her 
colour  was  high.  Mortimer,  too,  seemed  apprehensive. 
Things  had  suddenly  begun  to  work  themselves  out  too 
swiftly. 

"  Do  you  think  that's  best?  "  he  faltered,  looking 
about  for  his  hat.  "  Tell  Merkle  that  nobody  has  been 
here,  if  Quarrier  should  ask  him.  Do  you  think  we're 
doing  it  in  the  best  way,  Lydia?  By  God,  it  smells  of 
a  put-up  job  to  me!  But  I  guess  it's  all  right.  It's 
better  for  me  to  just  happen  in,  isn't  it?  Don't  forget 
to  put  Merkle  wise." 

He  descended  the  stairs  hastily.  Merkle,  of  the 
invisible  eyes,  held  his  hat  and  gloves  and  opened  the 
door  for  him. 

Once  on  the  dark  street,  his  impulse  was  to  flee — 
get  out,  get  away  from  the  whole  business.  A  sullen 
shame  was  pumping  the  hot  blood  up  into  his  neck  and 
cheeks.  He  strove  to  find  an  inoffensive  name  for  what 
he  was  proposing  to  do,  but  ugly  terms,  synonym  after 
synonym,  crowded  in  to  characterise  the  impending 
procedure,  and  he  walked  on  angrily,  half  frightened, 

412 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


looking  back  from  moment  to  moment  at  the  house  he 
had  just  left. 

On  the  corner  he  halted,  breathing  spasmodically,  for 
he  had  struck  a  smarter  pace  than  he  had  been  aware  of. 

Few  people  passed  him.  Once  he  caught  a  glimmer 
of  a  policeman's  buttons  along  the  park  wall,  and  an 
unpleasant  shiver  passed  over  him.  At  the  same  mo 
ment  an  electric  hansom  flew  noiselessly  past  him.  He 
shrank  back  into  the  shadow  of  a  porte-cochere.  The 
hansom  halted  before  the  limestone  basement  house.  A 
tall  figure  left  it,  stood  a  moment  in  the  middle  of  the 
sidewalk,  then  walked  quickly  to  the  front  door.  It 
opened,  and  the  man  vanished. 

The  hansom  still  waited  at  the  door.  Mortimer,  his 
hands  shaking,  looked  at  his  watch  by  the  light  of  the 
electric  bulbs  flanking  the  gateway  under  which  he  stood. 

There  was  not  much  time  in  which  to  make  up  his 
mind,  yet  his  fright  was  increasing  to  a  pitch  which 
began  to  enrage  him  with  that  coward's  courage  which 
it  is  impossible  to  reckon  with. 

He  had  missed  Quarrier  once  to-day  when  he  had 
been  keyed  to  the  encounter.  Was  he  going  to  miss  him 
again  through  sheer  terror?  Besides,  was  not  Quarrier 
a  coward?  Besides,  was  it  not  his  own  money?  Had 
he  not  been  vilely  swindled  by  a  pretended  friend? 
Urging,  lashing  himself  into  a  heavy,  shuffling  motion, 
he  emerged  from  the  porte-cochere  and  lurched  off  down 
the  street.  No  time  to  think  now,  no  time  for  second 
thought,  for  hesitation,  for  weakness.  He  had  waited 
too  long  already.  He  had  waited  ten  minutes,  instead  of 
five.  Was  Quarrier  going  to  escape  again?  Was  he 
going  to  get  out  of  the  house  before " 

Fumbling  with  his  latch-key,  but  with  sense  enough 
left  to  make  no  noise,  he  let  himself  in,  passed  silently 

413 


THE    FIGHTING    CHANCE 

through  the  reception-hall  and  up  to  the  drawing-room 
floor,  where  for  a  second  he  stood  listening.  Then  some 
thing  of  the  perverted  sportsman  sent  the  blood  quiver 
ing  into  his  veins.  He  had  him  !  He  had  run  him  down ! 
The  game  was  at  bay. 

An  inrush  of  exhilaration  steadied  him.  He  laid  his 
hand  on  the  banister  and  mounted,  gloves  and  hat-brim 
crushed  in  the  other  hand.  When  he  entered  the  room 
he  pretended  to  see  only  Lydia. 

"  Hello,  little  girl !  "  he  said,  laughing,  "  are  you 
surprised  to " 

At  that  moment  he  caught  sight  of  Quarrier,  and 
the  start  he  gave  was  genuine  enough.  Never  had  he 
seen  in  a  man's  visage  such  white  concentration  of  anger. 

"  Quarrier !  "  he  stammered,  for  his  acting  was  be 
coming  real  enough  to  supplant  art. 

Quarrier  had  risen ;  his  narrowing  eyes  moved  from 
Mortimer  to  Lydia,  then  reverted  to  the  man  in  the  com 
bination. 

"  Rather  unexpected,  isn't  it?  "  said  Mortimer,  star 
ing  at  Quarrier. 

"  Is  it?  "  returned  Quarrier  in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  sneered  Mortimer.  "  Did  you  ex 
pect  to  find  me  here  ?  " 

"  No.  Did  you  expect  to  find  me?  "  asked  the  other, 
with  emphasis  unmistakable. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Mortimer 
hoarsely.  "  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  asking  me 
if  I  expected  to  find  you  here?  If  I  had,  I'd  not  have 
travelled  down  to  your  office  to-day  to  see  you;  I'd 
have  come  here  for  you.  Naturally  people  suppose  that 
an  engaged  man  is  likely  to  give  up  this  sort  of  thing." 

Quarrier,  motionless,  white  to  the  lips,  turned  his 
eyes  from  one  to  the  other. 

414 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


"  It  doesn't  look  very  well,  does  it?  "  asked  Morti 
mer  ;  and  he  stood  there,  smiling,  danger  written  all  over 
him.  "  It's  beginning  rather  early,"  he  continued,  with  a 
sneer.  "  Most  engaged  men  with  a  conscience  wait  until 
they're  married  before  they  return  to  the  gay  and 
frivolous.  But  here  you  are,  it  seems,  handsome,  jolly, 
and  irresistible  as  ever !  " 

Quarrier  looked  at  Lydia,  and  his  lips  moved :  "  You 
asked  me  to  come,"  he  said. 

"  No;  you  offered  to.  I  wished  to  talk  to  you  over 
the  wire,  but " — her  lip  curled,  and  she  shrugged  her 
shoulders — "  you  seemed  to  be  afraid  of  something  or 
other." 

"  I  couldn't  talk  to  you  in  my  own  house,  with  guests 
in  the  room." 

"  Why  not?  Did  I  say  anything  your  fashionable 
guests  might  take  exception  to?  Am  I  likely  to  do 
anything  of  that  kind  ? — you  coward !  " 

Quarrier  stood  very  still,  then  noiselessly  turned  and 
made  one  step  toward  the  door. 

"  One  moment,"  interposed  Mortimer  blandly.  "  As 
long  as  I  travelled  down  town  to  see  you,  and  find  you 
here  so  unexpectedly,  I  may  as  well  take  advantage  of 
this  opportunity  to  regulate  a  little  matter.  You  don't 
mind  our  talking  shop  for  a  moment,  Lydia?  Thank 
you.  It's  just  a  little  business  matter  between  Mr.  Quar 
rier  and  myself — a  matter  concerning  a  few  shares  of 
stock  which  I  once  held  in  one  of  his  companies,  bought 
at  par,  and  tumbled  to  ten  and —  What  is  the  fraction, 
Quarrier?  I  forget." 

Quarrier  thought  deeply  for  a  moment;  then  he 
raised  his  head,  looking  full  at  Mortimer,  and  under  his 
silky  beard  an  edge  of  teeth  glimmered.  "  Did  you  wish 
me  to  take  back  those  shares  at  par?  "  he  asked. 

415 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

"  Exactly !  I  knew  you  would !  I  knew  you'd  see 
it  in  that  way !  "  cried  Mortimer  heartily.  "  Confound 
it  all,  Quarrier,  I've  always  said  you  were  that  sort  of 
man — that  you'd  never  let  a  friend  in  on  the  top  floor, 
and  kick  him  clear  to  the  cellar!  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
I  sold  out  at  ten  and  three-eighths.  Wait !  Here's  a 
pencil.  Lydia,  give  me  that  pad  on  your  desk.  Here 
you  are,  Quarrier.  It's  easy  enough  to  figure  out  how 
much  you  owe  me." 

And  as  Quarrier  slowly  began  tracing  figures  on  the 
pad,  Mortimer  rambled  on,  growing  more  demonstrative 
and  boisterous  every  moment.  "  It's  white  of  you, 
Quarrier — I'll  say  that!  Legally,  of  course,  you  could 
laugh  at  me ;  but  I've  always  said  your  business  con 
science  would  never  let  your  stand  for  this  sort  of  thing. 
'  You  can  talk  and  talk,'  I've  told  people,  many  a  time, 
'  but  you'll  never  convince  me  that  Howard  Quarrier 
hasn't  a  heart.'  No,  by  jinks!  they  couldn't  make  me 
believe  it.  And  here's  my  proof — here's  my  vindication ! 
Lydia,  would  you  mind  hunting  up  that  cheque-book 
I  left  here  before  dinn " 

He  had  made  a  mistake.  The  girl  flushed.  He 
choked  up,  and  cast  a  startled  glance  at  Quarrier.  But 
Quarrier,  if  he  heard,  made  no  motion  of  understanding. 
Perhaps  it  had  not  been  necessary  to  convince  him  of 
the  conspiracy. 

When  he  had  finished  his  figures  he  reviewed  them, 
tracing  each  total  with  his  pencil's  point;  then  quietly 
handed  the  pad  to  Mortimer  who  went  over  it,  and  nodded 
that  it  was  correct. 

Lydia  rose.  Quarrier  said,  without  looking  at  her: 
"  I  have  a  blank  cheque  with  me.  May  I  use  one  of 
these  pens  ?  " 

So  he  had  brought  a  cheque !  Had  he  supposed  that 
416 


THE   ASKING   PRICE 


a  cheque  might  be  necessary  when  Lydia  called  him  up? 
Was  he  prepared  to  meet  any  demand  of  hers,  too,  even 
before  Mortimer  appeared  on  the  scene? 

"  As  long  as  you  have  a  cheque  with  you,  Howard," 
said  Lydia  quietly,  "  suppose  you  simply  add  to  Mr. 
Mortimer's  amount  what  you  had  intended  to  offer  me?  " 

He  stared  at  her  without  answering. 

"  That  little  remembrance  for  old  time's  sake.  Don't 
you  recollect?  " 

"  No,"  said  Quarrier. 

"  Why,  Howard !  Didn't  you  promise  me  all  sorts 
of  things  when  I  wanted  to  go  to  your  friend  Mr. 
Siward,  and  explain  that  it  was  not  his  fault  I  got  into 
the  Patroons  Club?  Don't  you  remember  I  felt  dread 
fully  that  he  was  expelled — that  I  was  simply  wild  to 
write  to  the  governors  and  tell  them  how  I  took  Merkle's 
clothes  and  drove  to  the  club  and  waited  until  I  saw  a 
lot  of  men  go  in,  and  then  crowded  in  with  the  push?  " 

Mortimer  was  staring  at  Quarrier  out  of  his  pro 
truding  eyes.  The  girl  leaned  forward,  deliberate,  self- 
possessed,  the  red  lips  edged  with  growing  scorn. 

"  That  was  a  dirty  trick !  "  said  Mortimer  heavily. 
He  took  the  pad,  added  a  figure,  passed  it  to  Lydia, 
and  she  coolly  wrote  a  total,  underscoring  it  heavily. 

"  That  is  the  amount,"  she  said. 

Quarrier  looked  at  the  pad  which  she  had  tossed 
upon  the  desk.  Then  he  slowly  wetted  his  pen  with 
ink,  and,  laying  the  loose  cheque  flat,  began  to  fill  it 
in.  Afterward  he  dried  it,  and,  reading  it  carefully, 
pushed  it  aside  and  rose. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  advisable  for  you  to  stop  payment, 
you  know,"  observed  Mortimer  insolently,  lying  back  in 
his  chair  and  stretching  his  legs. 

"  I  know,"  said  Quarrier,  pausing  to  turn  on  them 
417 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

a  deathly  stare.  Then  he  went  away.  After  awhile  they 
heard  the  door  close.  But  there  was  no  sound  from  the 
electric  hansom,  and  Mortimer  rose  and  walked  to  the 
window. 

"  He's  gone,"  he  said. 

Lydia  stood  at  the  desk,  examining  the  cheque. 

"  We  ought  to  afford  a  decent  touring-car  now," 
she  suggested — "  like  that  yellow  and  black  Serin-Chan- 
teur  car  of  Mr.  Plank's." 


418 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THE    SELLING    PRICE 

THE  heat,  which  had  been  severe  in  June,  driving 
the  last  fashionable  loiterer  into  the  country,  continued 
fiercely  throughout  July.  August  was  stifling;  the 
chestnut  leaves  in  the  parks  curled  up  and  grew  brittle ; 
the  elms  were  blotched;  brown  stretches  scarred  the 
lawns;  the  blazing  colour  of  the  geranium  beds  seemed 
to  intensify  the  heat,  like  a  bed  of  living  coals. 

Nobody  who  was  anybody  remained  in  town — 
except  some  wealthy  business  men  and  their  million 
odd  employes ;  but  the  million,  being  nobodies,  didn't 
count. 

Nobody  came  into  town ;  that  is  to  say  that  a  mil 
lion  odd  strangers  came  as  usual,  swelling  the  sweltering, 
resident  population  sufficiently  to  animate  the  main  com 
mercial  thoroughfares  morning  and  evening,  but  they 
didn't  count;  the  money  they  spent  was,  however,  very 
carefully  counted. 

The  fashionable  columns  of  the  newspapers  informed 
the  fashionable  ex-urbanated  that  the  city  was  empty — 
though  the  East  Side  reeked  like  a  cattle-pen,  and  an 
other  million  or  two  gasped  on  the  hot,  tin  roofs  under 
the  stars,  or  buried  their  dirty  faces  in  the  parched 
park  grass. 

What  the  press  meant  to  say  was  that  the  wealthy 
section  of  the  city  within  the  shadow  of  St.  Patrick's 
twin  white  spires  and  north  of  Fifty-ninth  Street  was 

419 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

as  empty  and  silent  as  an  abandoned  gold-mine.  Which 
was  true.  Miles  of  elaborate,  untenanted  dwellings 
glimmered  blank  under  the  moon  and  stood  tomb-like  in 
barren  magnificence  against  the  blazing  blue  of  noon. 
Miles  of  plate-glass  windows,  boarded,  or  bearing  be 
tween  lowered  shade  and  dusty  pane  the  significant 
parti-coloured  placard  warning  the  honest  thief,  stared 
out  at  the  heated  park  or,  in  the  cross  streets,  con 
fronted  each  other  with  inert  hauteur,  awaiting  the 
pleasure  of  their  absent  owners. 

The  humidity  increased;  the  horses'  heads  hung 
heavily  under  their  ridiculously  pitiful  straw  bonnets. 
When  the  sun  was  vertical  nobody  stirred;  when  the 
bluish  shadows  began  to  creep  out  over  baked  sidewalks, 
broadening  to  a  strip  of  superheated  shade,  a  few  stirred 
abroad  in  the  deserted  streets;  here  a  policeman,  thin 
blue  summer  tunic  open,  helmet  in  hand,  swabbing  the 
sweat  from  forehead  and  neck ;  there  a  wrhite  uniformed 
street  sweeper  dragging  his  rubber-edged  mop  or  a 
section  of  wet  hose;  perhaps  a  haggard  peddler  of 
lemonade  making  for  the  Park  wall  around  the  Metro 
politan  Museum  where,  a  little  later,  the  East  Side 
would  venture  out  to  sit  on  the  benches,  or  the  great 
electric  tourists'  busses  would  halt  to  dump  out  a  living 
cargo — perhaps  only  the  bent  figure  of  a  woman,  very 
shabby,  very  old,  dragging  her  ancient  bones  along  the 
silent  splendour  of  Fifth  Avenue,  and  peering  about  the 
gutters  for  something  she  never  finds — always  peering, 
always  mumbling  the  endless,  wordless,  soundless  miser 
ere  of  the  poor. 

Quarrier's  huge  limestone  mansion,  looming  golden 
in  the  sun,  was  tenantless ;  its  owner,  closing  even  The 
Sedges,  his  Long  Island  house,  and  driven  northward 
for  a  breath  of  air,  was  expected  at  Shotover. 

420 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


The  house  of  Mrs.  Mortimer  was  closed  and  boarded 
up;  the  Caithness  mansion  was  closed;  the  Ferralls',  the 
Bonnesdels',  the  Pages',  the  Shannons',  Mrs.  Venden- 
ning's,  all  were  sealed  up  like  vaults.  A  caretaker  ap 
parently  guarded  Major  Belwether's  house,  peeping  out 
at  intervals  from  behind  the  basement  windows.  As  for 
Plank's  great  pile  of  masonry,  edging  the  outer  Hun 
dreds  in  the  north,  several  lighted  windows  were  to  be 
seen  in  it  at  night,  and  a  big  yellow  and  black  touring- 
car  whizzed  down  town  from  its  bronze  gateway  every 
morning  with  perfect  regularity. 

For  there  was  a  fight  on  that  had  steadily  grown 
hotter  with  the  weather,  and  Plank  had  little  time  to 
concern  himself  with  the  temperature  or  to  mop  his  red 
features  over  the  weather  bureau  report.  Harrington 
and  Quarrier  were  after  him,  horse,  foot,  and  dragoons ; 
Harrington  had  even  taken  a  house  at  Seabright  in 
order  to  be  near  in  person;  and  Quarrier's  move  from 
Long  Island  to  Shotover  House  was  not  as  flippant  as 
it  might  appear,  for  he  had  his  private  car  there  and 
a  locomotive  at  Black  Fells  Crossing  station,  and  he  was 
within  striking  distance  of  Rochester,  Utica,  Syracuse, 
and  Albany.  Which  was  what  Harrington  thought 
necessary. 

The  vast  unseen  machinery  set  in  motion  by  Har 
rington  and  Quarrier  had  begun  to  grind  in  May ;  and, 
at  the  first  audible  rumble,  the  aspect  of  things  finan 
cial  in  the  country  changed.  A  few  industrials  began 
to  rocket,  nobody  knew  why;  but  the  market's  first 
tremor  left  it  baggy  and  spineless,  and  the  reaction, 
already  overdue,  became  a  sodden  and  soggy  slump. 
Nobody  knew  why. 

The  noise  of  the  fray  in  the  papers,  which  had  first 
excited  then  stunned  the  outside  public,  continued  in  a 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

delirium  of  rumour,  report,  forecast,  and  summing  up 
at  the  week's  end. 

Scare  heads,  involving  everybody  and  everything, 
from  the  District-Attorney  to  Plank's  office  boy,  suc 
ceeded  one  another.  Plank's  name  headed  column  after 
column.  Already  becoming  familiar  in  the  society  and 
financial  sections,  it  began  to  appear  in  neighbouring 
paragraphs.  Who  was  Plank?  And  the  papers  told 
people  with  more  or  less  inaccuracy,  humour,  or  sarcasm. 
What  was  he  trying  to  do?  The  papers  tried  to  tell 
that,  too,  making  a  pretty  close  guess,  with  comments 
good-natured  or  ill-natured  according  to  circumstances 
over  which  somebody  ought  to  have  some  control. 
What  was  Harrington  trying  to  do  to  Plank — if  he 
was  trying  to  do  anything?  They  told  that  pretty 
clear!}7.  What  was  Quarrier  going  to  do  to  Plank? 
That,  also,  they  explained  in  lively  detail.  A  few 
clergymen  who  stuck  to  their  churches  began  to  volun 
teer  pulpit  opinions  concerning  the  ethics  of  the  battle. 
A  minister  who  was  generally  supposed  to  make  an  un 
mitigated  nuisance  of  himself  in  politics  dealt  Plank 
an  unexpected  blow  by  saying  that  he  was  a  "  hero." 
Some  papers  called  him  "  Hero  "  Plank  for  awhile,  but 
soon  tired  of  it  or  forgot  it  under  the  stress  of  the  in 
creasing  heat. 

Besides  Plank  scarcely  noticed  what  the  press  said 
of  him.  He  was  too  busy;  his  days  were  full  days, 
brimming  over  deep  into  the  night.  Brokers,  lawyers, 
sycophants,  tipsters,  treacherous  ex-employes  of  Quar 
rier,  detectives,  up-State  petty  officials,  lobbyists  from 
Albany,  newspaper  men,  men  from  Wall  Street,  Broad 
Street,  Mulberry  Street,  Forty-second  Street — all  these 
he  saw  in  units,  relays,  regiments — either  at  his  offices 
or  after  dinner — and  sometimes  after  midnight  in  his 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


own  house.  And  these  were  only  a  few,  picked  from 
the  interested  or  disinterested  thousands  who  besieged 
him  with  advice,  importunity,  threats,  and  attempted 
blackmail.  And  he  handled  them  all  in  turn,  stolidly 
but  with  decision.  His  obstinate  under  lip  protruded 
further  and  further  with  rare  recessions ;  his  heavy  head 
was  like  the  lowered  head  of  a  bull.  Undaunted,  inex 
orable,  slow  to  the  verge  of  stupidity  at  times,  at  times 
swift  as  a  startled  tiger,  this  new,  amazing  personality 
steadily  developing,  looming  higher,  heavier,  athwart 
the  financial  horizon — in  stature  holding  his  own  among 
giants,  then  growing,  gradually,  inch  by  inch,  domi 
nated  his  surrounding  level  sky  line. 

The  youth  in  him  was  the  tragedy  to  the  old;  the 
sudden  silence  of  the  man  the  danger  to  the  secretive. 
Harrington  was  already  an  old  man;  Quarrier's  own 
weapon  had  always  been  secrecy ;  but  the  silence  of  Plank 
confused  him,  for  he  had  never  learned  to  parry  well 
another's  use  of  his  own  weapon.  The  left-handed 
swordsman  dreads  to  cross  with  a  man  who  fights  with 
the  left  hand.  And  Harrington,  hoary,  seamed,  scarred, 
maimed  in  onslaughts  of  long  forgotten  battles,  looked 
long  and  hard  upon  this  weird  of  his  own  dead  youth 
which  now  rose  towering  to  confront  him,  menacing 
him  with  the  armed  point  of  the  same  shield  behind 
which  he  himself  had  so  long  found  shelter — the  Law ! 

The  closing  of  the  courts  enforced  armed  truces 
along  certain  lines  of  Plank's  battle  front;  the  adjourn 
ment  of  the  legislature  emptied  Albany.  Once  it  was 
rumoured  that  Plank  had  passed  an  entire  morning  with 
the  Governor  of  the  greatest  State  in  the  Union  and  that 
the  conference  was  to  be  repeated.  A  swarm  of  news 
paper  men  settled  about  the  Governor's  summer  cottage 
at  Saratoga,  but  they  learned  nothing,  nor  could  they 
28  423 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

find  a  trace  of  Plank's  tracks  in  the  trodden  trails  of 
the  great  Spa. 

Besides,  the  racing  had  begun;  Desmond,  Burbank, 
Sneed,  and  others  of  the  gilded  guild  had  opened  new 
club-houses;  the  wretched,  half-starved  natives  in  the 
surrounding  hills  were  violating  the  game-laws  to  dis 
tend  the  paunches  of  the  overfed  with  five-inch  trout- 
lings  and  grouse  and  woodcock  slaughtered  out  of 
season ;  so  there  was  plenty  of  copy  for  newspaper  men 
without  the  daily  speculative  paragraph  devoted  to  the 
doings  of  Beverly  Plank.  Some  scandal,  too — but  news 
papers  never  touch  that;  and  after  all  it  was  nobody's 
affair  that  Leroy  Mortimer  drove  a  large  yellow  and 
black  Serin-Chanteur  touring-car,  new  model,  all  over 
Saratoga  county.  Perhaps  the  similarity  of  machines 
gave  rise  to  the  rumour  of  Plank's  presence;  perhaps 
not,  because  the  car  was  often  driven  by  a  tall,  slender 
girl  with  dark  eyes  and  hair ;  and  nobody  ever  saw  that 
sort  of  pretty  woman  in  Plank's  Serin,  or  saw  Leroy 
Mortimer  for  many  days  without  a  companion  of  that 
species. 

Mortimer's  health  was  excellent.  The  races  had  not 
proved  remunerative  however,  and  his  new  motor-car  was 
horribly  expensive.  So  was  Lydia.  And  he  began  to 
be  seriously  afraid  that  by  the  end  of  August  he  would 
be  obliged  to  apply  to  Quarrier  once  more  for  some  slight 
temporary  token  of  that  gentleman's  goodwill.  He  told 
Lydia  this,  and  she  seemed  to  agree  with  him.  This 
pleased  him.  She  had  not  pleased  him  very  much  re 
cently.  For  one  thing  she  was  becoming  too  friendly 
with  some  of  his  friends — Desmond  in  particular. 

Plank,  it  was  known,  had  opened  his  great  house 
at  Black  Fells.  His  servants,  gamekeepers,  were  there ; 
his  stables,  kennels,  greenhouses,  model  stock-farm — all 

424 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


had  been  put  in  immaculate  condition  pending  the  ad 
vent  of  the  master.  But  Plank  had  not  appeared;  his 
new  sea-going  steam  yacht  still  lay  in  the  East  River, 
and,  at  rare  intervals,  a  significant  glimmer  of  bunting 
disclosed  the  owner's  presence  aboard  for  an  hour  or 
two.  That  was  all,  however;  and  the  cliff-watchers  at 
Shotover  House  and  the  Fells  looked  seaward  in  vain 
for  the  big  Siwanoa,  as  yacht  after  yacht,  heralded 
by  the  smudge  on  the  horizon,  turned  from  a  gray 
speck  to  a  white  one,  and  crept  in  from  the  sea  to 
anchor. 

The  Ferralls  were  at  Shotover  with  their  first  in 
stalment  of  guests.  Sylvia  was  there,  Quarrier  ex 
pected — because  Kemp  Ferrall's  break  with  him  was  not 
a  social  one,  and  Grace's  real  affection  for  Sylvia  blinded 
neither  her  nor  her  husband  to  the  material  and  social 
importance  of  the  intimacy.  Siward  was  not  invited; 
neither  had  an  invitation  to  him  been  even  discussed  in 
view  of  what  Grace  was  aware  of,  and  what  everybody 
knew  concerning  the  implacable  relations  existing  be 
tween  him,  personally,  and  Howard  Quarrier. 

Bridge,  yachting,  and  motoring  were  the  August 
sports ;  the  shooting  set  had  not  yet  arrived,  of  course ; 
in  fact  there  was  still  another  relay  expected  before  the 
season  opened  and  brought  the  shooting  coterie  for  the 
first  two  weeks.  But  Sylvia  was  expected  to  last 
through  and  hold  over  with  a  brief  interlude  for  a  week's 
end  at  Lenox.  So  was  Quarrier;  and  Grace,  always 
animated  by  a  lively  but  harmless  malice,  hoped  to 
Heaven  that  Plank  might  arrive  before  Quarrier  left, 
because  she  adored  the  tension  of  situations  and  was 
delightedly  persuaded  that  Plank  was  more  than  able 
to  hold  his  own  with  her  irritating  cousin. 

"  Oh,  to  see  them  together  in  a  small  room,"  she 
425 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

sighed  ecstatically  in  Sylvia's  ear ;  "  I'd  certainly  poke 
them  up  if  they  only  turned  around  sulkily  in  the  cor 
ners  of  the  cage  and  evinced  a  desire  to  lie  down." 

"  What  a  mischief-maker  you  are,"  said  Sylvia  list 
lessly;  and  though  Grace  became  very  vivacious  in  de 
scribing  her  plans  to  extract  amusement  out  of  Plank's 
hoped-for  presence  Sylvia  remained  uninterested. 

There  seemed,  in  fact,  little  to  interest  her  that  sum 
mer  at  Shotover  House;  and,  though  she  never  refused 
any  plans  made  for  her,  and  her  attitude  was  one  of 
quiet  acquiescence  always — she  never  expressed  a  pref 
erence  for  anything,  a  desire  to  do  anything;  and,  if 
let  alone,  was  prone  to  pace  the  cliffs  or  stretch  her 
slim,  rounded  body  on  the  sand  of  some  little,  sheltered, 
crescent  beach,  apparently  content  with  the  thunderous 
calm  of  sea  and  sky. 

Her  interest,  too,  in  people  had  seemingly  been  ex 
tinguished.  Once  or  twice  she  did  inquire  as  to  Marion's 
whereabouts,  and  learned  that  Miss  Page  was  fishing 
in  Minnesota  somewhere  but  would  return  to  Shot- 
over  when  the  shooting  opened.  Somebody,  Captain 
Voucher,  perhaps,  mentioned  to  somebody  in  her  hear 
ing  that  Siward  was  still  in  New  York.  If  she  heard 
she  made  no  sign,  no  inquiry.  The  next  morning  she 
remained  abed  with  a  headache,  and  Grace  motored  to 
Wendover  without  her;  but  Sylvia  spent  the  balance  of 
the  day  on  the  cliffs,  and  played  Bridge  with  the  devil's 
own  luck  till  dawn,  piling  up  a  score  that  staggered 
Mr.  Fleetwood,  who  had  been  instructing  her  in  adver 
sary  play  a  day  or  two  before. 

The  hot  month  dragged  on ;  Quarrier  came ;  Agatha 
Caithness  arrived  a  few  days  later — scheme  of  the  Fer- 
ralls  involving  Alderdene ! — but  the  Siwanoa  did  not 
come,  and  Plank  remained  invisible.  Leila  Mortimer  ar- 

426 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


rived  from  Swan's  Harbour  toward  the  middle  of  the 
month,  offering  no  information  as  to  the  whereabouts  of 
what  Major  Belwether  delicately  designated  as  her  "  le 
gitimate."  But  everybody  knew  he  was  at  last  to  be 
crossed  off  and  struck  clean  out,  and  the  ugly  history 
of  the  winter,  now  so  impudently  corroborated  at  Sara 
toga,  gave  many  a  hostess  the  opportunity  long  desired. 
Mortimer,  as  far  as  his  own  particular  circle  was  con 
cerned,  was  down  and  out;  Leila,  accepted  as  a  matter 
of  course  without  him,  remained  quietly  uncommunica 
tive.  If  the  outward  physical  change  in  her  was  due 
to  her  marital  rupture  people  thought  it  was  well  that 
it  had  come  in  time,  for  she  bloomed  like  a  lovely 
exotic;  and  her  silences  and  enthusiasms,  and  the  frag 
rant  freshness  of  her  developing  attitude  toward  the 
world  first  disconcerted,  then  amused,  then  touched  those 
who  had  supposed  themselves  to  be  so  long  a  buckler  for 
her  foibles  and  a  shield  for  her  caprice. 

"  Gad,"  said  Alderdene,  "  she's  well  rid  of  him  if 
he's  been  choking  her  this  long — the  rank,  rotten  weed 
that  he  is,  sapping  the  life  from  her  so  when  she  hung 
over  toward  another  fellow's  bush  we  thought  she  was 
frail  in  the  stem — God  bless  us  all  for  a  simpering  lot 
of  blatherskites ! " 

And  if,  in  the  corner  of  the  gun-room,  there  was  a 
man  among  them  who  had  ever  ventured  to  hold  Leila's 
smooth  little  hand,  unrebuked,  in  days  gone  by,  none 
the  less  he  knew  that  Alderdene  spoke  truth;  and  none 
the  less  he  knew  that  what  witness  he  might  be  called  to 
bear  at  the  end  of  the  end  of  all  must  only  incriminate 
himself  and  not  that  young  matron  who  now,  before 
their  very  eyes,  was  budding  again,  reverting  to  the 
esoteric  charm  of  youth  reincarnated. 

"  A  suit  before  a  referee  would  settle  him,"  mused 
427 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Voucher ;  "  he  hasn't  a  leg  to  stand  on.  Lord !  The 
same  cat  that  tripped  up  Stephen  Siward !  " 

Fleetwood's  quick  eyes  glimmered  for  an  instant  in 
Quarrier's  direction.  Quarrier  was  in  the  billiard-room, 
out  of  earshot,  practising  balk-line  problems  with  Maj  or 
Belwether ;  and  Fleetwood  said :  "  The  same  cat  that 
tripped  up  Stephen  Siward.  Yes.  But  who  let  her 
loose?" 

"  It  was  your  dinner;  you  ought  to  know,"  said 
Voucher  bluntly. 

"  I  do  know.  He  brought  her  " — nodding  toward 
the  billiard-room. 

"  Belwether?  " 

"  No,"  yawned  Fleetwood. 

Somebody  said  presently :  "  Isn't  he  one  of  the  Gov 
ernors?  Oh,  I  say,  that  was  rather  rough  on  Siward 
though." 

"  Yes,  rough.  The  law  of  trespass  ought  to  have 
operated;  a  man's  liable  for  the  damage  done  by  his 
own  live-stock." 

"  That's  a  brutal  way  of  talking,"  said  somebody. 
And  the  subject  was  closed  with  the  entrance  of  Agatha 
in  white  flannels  on  her  way  to  the  squash  court  where 
she  had  an  appointment  with  Quarrier. 

"  A  strange  girl,"  said  somebody  after  she  had  dis 
appeared  with  Quarrier. 

"  That  pallor  is  stunning,"  said  a  big,  ruddy  youth, 
with  sunburn  on  his  neck  and  forehead. 

"  It  isn't  healthy,"  said  Fleetwood. 

"  It  attracts  me"  persisted  the  ruddy  young  man, 
voicing  naively  that  curious  truth  concerning  the  at 
traction  that  disease  so  often  exerts  on  health — the 
strange  curiosity  the  normal  has  for  the  sub-normal — 
that  fascination  of  the  wholesome  for  the  unhealthy.  It 

428 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


is,  perhaps,  more  curiosity  than  anything,  unless,  deep 
hidden  under  the  normal,  there  lie  one  single,  perverted 
nerve. 

Sylvia,  passing  the  hall,  glanced  in  through  the 
gun-room  door  with  an  absentminded  smile  at  the  men 
and  their  laughing  greeting,  as  they  rose  with  uplifted 
glasses  to  salute  her. 

"  The  sweetest  of  all,"  observed  a  man,  disconsolately 
emptying  his  glass.  "  Oh  irony !  What  a  marriage !  " 

"  Do  you  know  any  girl  who  would  not  change 
places  with  her  ?  "  asked  another. 

Every  man  there  insisted  that  he  knew  one  girl  at 
least  who  would  not  exchange  Sylvia's  future  for  her 
own.  That  was  very  nice  of  them;  it  is  to  be  hoped 
they  believed  it.  Some  of  them  did — for  the  moment, 
anyhow.  Then  Alderdene,  blinking  furiously,  emitted 
one  of  his  ear-racking  laughs ;  and  everybody,  as  usual, 
laughed  too. 

"  You  damned  cynic,"  observed  Voucher  affection 
ately. 

"  Somebody,"  said  Fleetwood,  "  insists  that  she 
doubled  up  poor  Siward." 

"  She  never  met  Siward  until  she  was  engaged  to 
Howard,"  remarked  Voucher. 

"Well?" 

"  Oh,  don't  you  consider  that  enough  to  squelch  the 
story?" 

"  Engaged  girls,"  mused  Alderdene,  "  never  double 
up  except  at  Bridge." 

"  Everybody  has  been  or  is  in  love  with  Sylvia  Lan- 
dis,"  said  Voucher,  "  and  it's  a  man's  own  fault  if  he's 
hit.  Once  she  did  it,  innocently  enough,  and  enjoyed 
it,  never  realising  that  it  hurt  a  man  to  be  doubled  up." 

Fleetwood  yawned  again  and  said :  "  She  can  have 
429 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 


me  to-morrow.  But  she  won't.  She's  tired  of  the  sport. 
Any  girl  would  get  enough  with  the  pack  at  her  heels 
day  in  and  day  out.  Besides  she's  done  for — unless  she 
looses  Quarrier  and  starts  on  a  duke-hunt  over  in 
Blinky's  country!  ...  Is  anybody  on  for  a  sail?  Is 
anybody  on  for  anything?  No?  Oh,  very  well.  Shove 
that  decanter  north  by  west,  Billy." 

This  was  characteristic  of  the  dog-days  at  Shot- 
over.  The  dog-days  in  town  were  very  different;  the 
city  threw  open  the  parks  to  the  poor  at  night;  horses 
fell  dead  in  the  streets ;  pallid  urchins,  stripped  naked, 
splashed  and  rolled  and  screeched  in  the  basin  of  the 
City  Hall  fountain  under  the  indifferent  eyes  of  the 
police. 

As  for  Plank  he  was  too  busy  to  know  what  the 
thermometer  was  about ;  he  had  no  time  for  anything 
outside  of  his  own  particular  business  except  to  go  every 
day  to  the  big,  darkened  house  in  lower  Fifth  Avenue 
where  the  days  had  been  hard  on  Siward  and  the  nights 
harder. 

Siward,  however,  could  walk  now,  using  his  crutches 
still,  but  often  stopping  to  gently  test  his  left  foot  and 
see  how  much  weight  he  was  able  to  bear  on  it — even 
taking  a  tentative  step  or  two  without  crutch  support. 
He  drove  when  he  thought  it  prudent  to  use  the  horses 
in  the  heat,  usually  very  early  in  the  morning,  though 
sometimes  at  night  with  Plank  when  the  latter  had 
time  to  run  his  touring-car  through  the  park  and  out 
into  the  Bronx  or  Westchester  for  a  breath  of  air. 

But  Plank  wanted  him  to  go  away,  get  out  of  the 
city  for  his  convalescence,  and  Siward  flatly  declined, 
demanding  that  Plank  permit  him  to  do  his  share  in 
the  fight  against  the  Inter-County  people. 

And  Plank,  utterly  unable  to  persuade  him,  and  the 
430 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


more  hampered  because  of  his  anxiety  about  Siward — 
though  that  young  man  did  not  know  it — wore  himself 
out  providing  Siward  with  such  employment  in  the  mat 
ter  as  would  lightly  occupy  him  without  doing  any  good 
to  the  enemy. 

So  Siward,  stripped  to  his  pajamas,  pored  over 
reams  of  typewritten  matter  and  took  his  brief  walk 
ing  exercise  in  the  comparative  cool  of  the  evening  and 
drove  when  he  dared  use  his  horses ;  or,  sitting  beside 
Plank,  whizzed  northward  through  the  starry  darkness 
of  the  suburbs. 

When  it  was  that  he  first  began  to  like  Plank  very 
much  he  could  not  exactly  remember.  He  was  not,  per 
haps,  aware  of  how  much  he  liked  him.  Plank's  unex 
pected  fits  of  shyness,  of  formality,  often  and  often 
amused  him.  But  there  was  a  subtler  feeling  under  the 
unexpressed  amusement,  and,  beneath  all,  a  constantly 
increasing  sub-stratum  of  respect.  Too,  he  found  him 
self  curiously  at  ease  with  Plank,  as  with  one  born  to 
his  own  caste.  And  this  feeling,  unconscious,  but 
more  and  more  apparent,  meant  more  to  Plank  than 
anything  that  had  ever  happened  to  him.  It  was  a 
tonic  in  hours  of  doubt,  a  pleasure  in  his  brief  lei 
sure,  a  pride  never  to  be  hinted  at,  never  to  be  guessed, 
never  to  be  dreamed  of  by  any  living  soul  save  Plank 
alone. 

Then,  one  sultry  day  toward  the  last  week  in 
August,  a  certain  judge  of  a  certain  court,  known 
among  some  as  "  Harrington's  judge,"  sent  secretly 
for  Plank.  And  Plank  knew  that  the  crisis  was  over. 
But  neither  Harrington  nor  Quarrier  dreamed  of  such 
a  thing. 

Fear  sat  heavy  on  that  judge's  soul — the  godless, 
selfish  fear  that  sends  the  first  coward  slinking  from  the 

431 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

councils  of  conspiracy  to  seek  immunity  from  those 
slowly  grinding  millstones  that  grind  exceeding  fine. 

Quarrier  at  Shotover,  with  his  private  car  and  his 
locomotive  within  an  hour's  drive,  strolled  with  Sylvia 
on  the  eve  of  her  departure  for  Lenox  with  Leila  Mor 
timer;  then,  when  their  conference  was  ended,  he  re 
turned  to  Agatha,  calmly  unconscious  of  impending 
events. 

Harrington,  at  Seabright,  paced  his  veranda,  await 
ing  this  same  judge,  annoyed  as  two  boats  came  in 
without  the  expected  guest.  And  never  for  one  instant 
did  he  dream  that  his  creature  sat  closeted  with  Plank, 
tremulous,  sallow,  nearing  the  edge  of  cringing  avowal — 
only  held  back  from  utter  collapse  by  the  agonising 
necessity  of  completing  a  bargain  that  might  save  him 
self  from  the  degradation  of  the  punishment  that  had 
seemed  inevitable.  All  day  long  he  sat  with  Plank. 
Nobody  except  those  two  knew  he  was  there.  And 
after  a  very  long  time  Plank  consented  that  nobody  else 
except  Siward  and  Harrington  and  Quarrier  should 
ever  know.  So  he  called  up  Harrington  on  the  tele 
phone,  saying  that  there  was,  in  the  office,  somebody 
who  desired  to  speak  to  him.  And  when  Harrington 
caught  the  judge's  first  faint,  stammered  word  he  reeled 
where  he  stood,  ashen,  unbelieving,  speechless.  The 
shaking  but  remorseless  voice  went  on,  dinning  horribly 
in  his  ear,  then  ceased,  and  Plank's  heavy  voice  sounded 
the  curt  coup  de  grace. 

Harrington  was  an  old  man,  a  very  old  man,  mor 
tally  hurt ;  but  he  steadied  himself  along  the  wall  of  his 
study  to  the  desk  and  sank  into  the  chair. 

There  he  sat,  feeling  the  scars  of  old  wounds  throb 
bing,  feeling  his  age  and  the  tragedy  of  it,  and  the 
new  sensation  of  fear — fear  of  the  wraith  of  his  own 

432 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


youth,  wearing  the  mask  of  Plank,  and  menacing  him 
with  the  menace  he  had  used  on  others  so  long  ago — so 
very  long  ago. 

After  a  little  while  he  passed  a  thin  hand  over  his 
eyes,  over  his  gray  head,  over  the  mouth  that  all  men 
watched  with  fear,  over  the  shaven  jaw  now  grimly  set, 
but  trembling.  His  hand,  too,  shook  with  palsy  as  he 
wrote,  painfully  picking  out  the  words  and  figures  of 
the  cipher  from  his  code-book;  but  he  closed  his  thin 
lips  and  squared  his  unsteady  jaw  and  wrote  his  mes 
sage  to  Quarrier: 

"  It  is  all  up.  Plank  will  take  over  Inter-County.  Come 
at  once." 

And  that  was  all  there  was  to  be  done  until  he 
could  come  into  Plank's  camp  with  arms  and  banners, 
a  conquered  man,  cynical  of  the  mercy  he  dared  not 
expect  and  which,  in  all  his  life,  he  had  never,  never 
shown  to  man,  to  woman,  or  to  child. 

Plank  slept  the  sleep  of  utter  exhaustion  that  night ; 
the  morning  found  him  haggard  but  strong,  cool  in 
his  triumph,  serious,  stern  faced,  almost  sad  that  his 
work  was  done,  the  battle  won. 

From  his  own  house  he  telegraphed  a  curt  summons 
to  Harrington  and  to  Quarrier  for  a  conference  in  his 
own  office ;  then,  finishing  whatever  business  "his  morning 
mail  required,  put  on  his  hat  and  went  to  see  the  one 
man  in  the  world  he  was  most  glad  for. 

He  found  him  at  breakfast,  sipping  coffee  and 
wrinkling  his  brows  over  the  eternal  typewritten  pages. 
And  Plank's  face  cleared  at  the  sight  and  he  sat  down, 
laughing  aloud. 

"  It's  all  over,  Siward,"  he  said.  "  Harrington 
knows  it ;  Quarrier  knows  it  by  this  time.  Their  judge 

433 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

crawled  in  yesterday  and  threw  himself  on  our  mercy; 
and  the  men  whose  whip  he  obeyed  will  be  on  their  way 
to  surrender  by  this  time.  .  .  .  Well!  Haven't  you  a 
word?" 

"  Many,"  said  Siward  slowly ;  "  too  many  to  utter, 
but  not  enough  to  express  what  I  feel.  If  you  will  take 
two  on  account,  here  they  are  in  one  phrase:  thank 
you." 

"  Debt's  cancelled,"  said  Plank,  laughing.  "  Do 
you  want  to  hear  the  details  ?  " 

They  talked  for  an  hour,  and,  in  the  telling,  even 
Plank's  stolidity  gave  way  sufficient  to  make  his  heavy 
voice  ring  at  moments,  and  the  glimmer  of  excitement 
edge  his  eyes.  Yet,  in  the  telling,  he  scarcely  mentioned 
himself,  never  hinted  of  the  personal  part — the  inspira 
tion  which  was  his  alone;  the  brunt  of  the  battle  which 
centred  in  him;  the  tireless  vigilance;  the  loneliness  of 
the  nights  when  he  lay  awake,  perplexed  with  doubt 
and  nobody  to  counsel  him — because  men  who  wage 
such  wars  are  lonely  men  and  must  work  out  their  own 
salvation.  No,  nobody  but  his  peers  could  advise  him; 
and  he  had  thought  that  his  enemy  was  his  peer,  until 
that  enemy  surrendered. 

The  narrative  exchanged  by  Plank  in  return  for 
Siward's  intensely  interested  questions  was  a  simple, 
limpid  review  of  a  short  but  terrific  campaign  that  only 
yesterday  had  threatened  to  rage  through  court  after 
court,  year  after  year.  In  the  sudden  shock  of  the  ces 
sation  from  battle,  Plank  himself  was  a  little  dazed. 
Yet  he  himself  had  expected  the  treason  that  ended  all ; 
he  himself  had  foreseen  it.  He  had  counted  on  it  as  a 
good  general  counts  on  such  things,  confidently,  but 
with  a  dozen  plans  as  substitutes  in  case  that  plan  failed 
• — each  plan  as  elaborately  worked  out  to  the  last  de- 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


tail  as  though  it  alone  existed  as  the  only  hope  of  vic 
tory.  But  if  Siward  suspected  something  of  this  it 
was  not  from  Plank  that  he  learned  it. 

"  Plank,"  he  said  at  last,  "  there  is  nothing  in  the 
world  that  men  admire  more  than  a  man.  It  is  a  good 
deal  of  a  privilege  for  me  to  tell  you  so." 

Plank  turned  red  with  surprise  and  embarrassment, 
stammering  out  something  incoherent. 

That  was  all  that  was  said  about  the  victory.  Si- 
ward,  unusually  gay  for  awhile,  presently  turned  som 
bre;  and  it  was  Plank's  turn  to  lift  him  out  of  it  by 
careless  remarks  about  his  rapid  convalescence,  and  the 
chance  for  vacation  he  so  much  needed. 

Once  Siward  looked  up  vacantly :  "  Where  am  I  to 
go  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Pd  as  soon  stay  here." 

"  But  I'm  going,"  insisted  Plank.  "  The  Fells  is 
all  ready  for  us." 

"  The  Fells !    I  can't  go  there  I  " 

"  W-what?  "  faltered  Plank,  looking  at  Siward  with 
hurt  eyes. 

"  Can't  you — don't  you  understand?  "  said  Siward 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  No.     You  once  promised " 

"  Plank,  I'll  go  anywhere  except  there  with  you. 
I'd  rather  be  with  you  than  with  anybody.  Can  I  say 
more  than  that  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  ought  to,  Siward.  A— a  fellow  feels 
the  refusal  of  his  offered  roof-tree." 

"  Man !  man !  it  isn't  your  roof  I  am  refusing.  I 
want  to  go;  I'd  give  anything  to  go.  If  it  were  any 
where  except  where  it  is,  I'd  go  fast  enough.  Now  do 
you  understand?  If — if  Shotover  House  and  Shotover 
people  were  not  next  door  to  the  Fells,  I'd  go.  Now 
do  you  understand?  " 

435 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Plank  said :  "  I  don't  know  whether  I  understand. 
If  you  mean  Quarrier,  he's  on  his  way  here,  and  he'll 
have  business  to  keep  him  here  for  the  next  few  months, 
I  assure  you.  But " — he  looked  very  gravely  across 
at  Siward — "  if  you  don't  mean  Quarrier — ".  He  hesi 
tated,  ill  at  ease  under  the  expressionless  scrutiny  of  the 
other. 

"  Do  you  know  what's  the  matter  with  me,  Plank  ?  " 
he  asked  at  length. 

"  I  think  so." 

"  I  have  wondered.  I  wonder  now  how  much  you 
know." 

"  Very  little,  Siward." 

"How  much?" 

Plank  looked  up,  hesitated,  and  shook  his  head: 
"  One  infers  from  what  one  hears." 

"Infers  what?" 

"  The  truth,  I  suppose,"  replied  Plank  simply. 

"  And  what,"  insisted  Siward,  "  have  you  inferred 
that  you  believe  to  be  the  truth  ?  Don't  parry,  Plank ; 
it  isn't  easy  for  me,  and  I — I  never  before  spoke  this 
way  to  any  man.  ...  It  is  likely  I  should  have  spoken 
to  my  mother  about  it.  ...  I  had  expected  to.  It 
may  be  weakness — I  don't  know;  but  I'd  like  to  talk  a 
little  about  it  to  somebody.  And  there's  nobody  fit  to 
listen,  except  you." 

"  If  you  feel  that  way,"  said  Plank  slowly,  "  I  will 
be  very  glad  to  listen." 

"  I  feel  that  way.  I've  been  through — some  things ; 
I've  been  pretty  sick,  Plank.  It  tires  a  man  out;  a 
man's  head  and  shoulders  get  tired.  Oh,  I  don't  mean 
the  usual  reaction  from  self -con  tempt,  disgust — the 
dreadful,  aching  sadness  of  it  all  which  lasts  even 
while  desire,  stunned  for  the  moment,  wakens  into  crav- 

436 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


ing.  I  don't  mean  that.  It  is  something  else — a  deathly, 
mental  solitude  that  terrifies.  I  tell  you,  no  man  ex 
cept  a  man  smitten  by  my  malady  knows  what  solitude 
can  be!  ...  There!  I  didn't  mean  to  be  theatrical; 
I  had  no  intention  of " 

"  Go  on,"  cut  in  Plank  heavily. 

"  Go  on !  ...  Yes,  I  want  to.  You  know  what  a 
pillow  is  to  a  tired  man's  shoulders.  I  want  to  use 
your  sane  intelligence  to  rest  on  a  moment.  It's  my 
brain  that's  tired,  Plank." 

Although  everybody  had  cynically  used  Plank,  no 
body  had  ever  before  found  him  a  necessity. 

"  Go  on,"  he  said  unsteadily.  "  If  I  can  be  of  use 
to  you,  Siward,  in  God's  name  let  me  be,  for  I  have 
never  been  necessary  to  anybody  in  all  my  life." 

Siward  rested  his  head  on  one  clinched  hand :  "  How 
much  chance  do  you  think  I  have?"  he  asked  wearily. 

"Chance  to  get  well?" 

"  Yes." 

Plank  considered  for  a  moment,  then :  "  You  are 
not  trying,  Siward." 

"  I  have  been  trying  since — since  March." 

"Since  March?" 

"  Yes." 

Plank  looked  at  him  curiously :  "  What  happened  in 
March?" 

"Had  I  better  tell  you?" 

"  You  know  better  than  I." 

Siward,  cheek  crushed  against  his  fist,  his  elbow  on 
the  desk,  gazed  at  him  steadily : 

"  In  March,"  he  said,  "  Miss  Landis  spoke  to  me. 
I've  made  a  better  fight  since." 

Plank's  serious  face  darkened.  "  Is  she  the  only 
anchor  you  have?  " 

437 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  Plank,  I  am  not  even  sure  of  her.  I  have  made 
a  better  fight  since  then;  that  is  all  I  dare  say.  .  .  . 
I  know  what  men  think  about  a  man  like  me;  I  know 
they  demand  character,  pride,  self-denial.  But,  Plank, 
I  am  driving  faster  and  faster  toward  the  breakers,  and 
these  anchors  are  dragging.  For  it  is  not,  in  my  case, 
the  physical  failure  to  obey  the  will;  it  is  the  will  itself 
that  has  been  attacked  from  the  first.  That  is  the 
horror  of  it.  And  what  is  there  behind  the  will-power 
to  strengthen  it?  Only  the  source  of  will-power — the 
mind.  It  is  the  mind  that  cannot  help  me.  What  am 
I  to  do?  " 

"  There  is  a  spiritual  strength,"  said  Plank  tim- 
idly. 

"  I  have  never  dreamed  of  denying  it,"  said  Si- 
ward.  "  I  have  tried  to  find  it  through  the  accepted 
sources — accepted  by  me,  too.  God  has  not  helped  me 
in  the  conventional  way  or  through  traditional  methods ; 
but  that  has  not  inclined  me  to  doubt  Him  as  the  tribu 
nal  of  last  resort,"  he  added  hastily.  "  I  don't  for  a 
moment  waver  in  faith  because  I  am  ignorant  of  the 
proper  manner  to  approach  Him.  The  Arbiter  of  all 
knows  that  I  desire  to  be  decent.  He  must  be  aware, 
too,  that  all  anchors  save  one  have  failed  to  hold  me." 

"  You  mean — Miss  Landis  ?  " 

"  Yes.  It  may  be  weakness ;  it  may  be  to  my  shame 
that  the  cables  of  pride  and  self-respect,  even  the  spir 
itual  respect  for  the  Highest,  cannot  hold  me  when  this 
one  anchor  holds.  All  I  know  is  that  it  holds — so  far. 
It  held  me  at  Shotover;  it  holds  me  again,  now.  And 
the  rocks  were  close  abeam,  Plank — very  close — when 
she  spoke  to  me  over  the  wires,  through  the  rain,  that 
dark  day  in  March." 

He  moistened  his  lips  feverishly. 
438 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


"  She  said  that  I  might  see  her.  I  have  waited  a 
long  time.  I  have  taken  my  fighting  chance  again  and 
I've  won  out,  so  far." 

He  looked  up  at  Plank,  curiously  embarrassed : 

"  Your  body  is  normal ;  your  intelligence  wholesome, 
balanced,  sane;  and  I  want  to  ask  you  if  you  think 
that  perhaps,  without  understanding  how,  I  have  found 
in  her,  or  through  her,  in  some  way,  the  spiritual  source 
that  I  think  might  help  me  to  help  myself?  " 

And,  as  Plank  made  no  reply: 

"  Or  am  I  talking  sentimental  cant?  Don't  answer, 
if  you  think  that.  I  can't  trust  my  own  mind  any  more, 
anyway ;  and,"  with  an  ugly  laugh,  "  I'll  know  it  all 
some  day — the  sooner  the  better !  " 

"Don't  say  that!"  growled  Plank.  "You  were 
sane  a  moment  ago." 

Siward  looked  up  sharply,  but  the  other  silenced  him 
with  a  gesture. 

"  Wait !  You  asked  me  a  perfectly  sane  question — 
so  wholesome,  so  normal,  that  I'm  trying  to  frame  an  an 
swer  worthy  of  it!  I  intimated  that  after  the  physical, 
the  mental,  the  ethical  phenomena,  there  remained  al 
ways  the  spiritual  instinct.  Like  a  wireless  current,  if 
a  man  can  establish  communication  it  is  well  for  him, 
whatever  the  method.  You  assented,  I  think." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  ask  me  if  I  believe  it  possible  that  she 
can  be  the  medium?  " 

"  Yes." 

Plank  said  deliberately :  "  Yes,  I  do  think  so." 

The  silence  was  again  broken  by  Plank :  "  Siward, 

you  have  asked  me  what  I  think.     Now  you  must  listen 

to  the  end.     If  you  believed  that  through  her — her  love, 

marrying  her — you  stood  the  best  chance  in  the  world 

29  439 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

to  win  out,  it  would  be  cowardly  to  ask  her  to  take  the 
risk.  As  much  as  I  care  for  you  I  had  rather  see  you 
lose  the  fight  than  accept  such  a  risk  from  her.  Now 
you  know  what  I  think — but  you  don't  know  all.  Si- 
ward,  I  say  to  you  that  if  you  are  man  enough  to  take 
her,  take  her!  And  I  say  that  of  the  two  risks  she  is 
running  to-day,  the  chance  she  might  take  with  you 
is  infinitely  the  lesser  risk.  For  with  you,  if  you  con 
tinue  slowly  losing  your  fight,  the  mental  suffering  only 
will  be  hers.  But  if  she  closes  this  bargain  with  Quar- 
rier,  selling  to  him  her  body,  the  light  will  go  out  of 
her  soul  for  ever." 

He  leaned  heavily  toward  Siward,  stretching  out  his 
powerful  arm: 

"  You  marry  her ;  and  keep  open  your  spiritual  com 
munication  through  her,  if  that  is  the  way  it  has  been 
established,  and  hang  on  to  your  God  that  way  until 
your  body  is  dead!  I  tell  you,  Siward,  to  marry  her. 
I  don't  care  how  you  do  it;  I  don't  care  how  you  get 
her.  Take  her!  Yours,  of  the  two,  is  the  stronger 
character,  or  she  would  not  be  where  she  is.  Does  she 
want  what  you  cannot  give  her?  Cure  that  desire — it 
is  more  contemptible  than  the  craving  that  shatters  you ! 
I  say,  let  the  one-eyed  lead  the  blind.  Miracles  are 
worked  out  by  mathematics — if  you  have  faith  enough." 

He  rose,  striding  the  length  of  the  room  once  or 
twice,  turned,  holding  out  his  broad  hand: 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said.  "  Harrington  is  about  due  at 
my  office;  Quarrier  will  probably  turn  up  to-night.  I 
am  not  vindictive;  I  shall  be  just  with  them — as  just  as 
I  know  how,  which  is  to  be  as  merciful  as  I  dare  be. 
Good-bye,  Siward.  I — I  believe  you  and  she  are  going 
to  get  well." 

When  he  had  gone,  Siward  lay  back  in  his  chair, 
440 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


very  still,  eyes  closed.     A  faint  colour  had  mounted  to 
his  face  and  remained  there. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  he  went  down 
stairs,  using  his  crutches  lightly.  Gumble  handed  him 
a  straw  hat  and  opened  the  door,  and  Siward  cautiously 
descended  the  stoop,  stood  for  a  few  moments  on  the 
sidewalk,  looking  up  at  the  blue  sky,  then  wheeled  and 
slowly  made  his  way  toward  Washington  Square.  The 
avenue  was  deserted;  his  own  house  appeared  to  be  the 
only  remaining  house  still  open  in  all  that  old-fashioned 
but  respectable  quarter. 

He  swung  leisurely  southward,  a  slim,  well-built 
young  fellow,  strangely  out  of  place  on  crutches.  The 
poor  always  looked  at  him ;  beggars  never  importuned 
him,  yet  found  him  agreeable  to  watch.  Children,  who 
seldom  look  up  into  the  air  far  enough  to  notice  grown 
people,  always  became  conscious  of  him  when  he  passed ; 
often  smiled,  sometimes  spoke.  As  for  stray  curs  and 
tramp  cats,  they  were  for  ever  making  advances.  As 
long  as  he  could  remember,  there  was  scarcely  a  week 
in  town  but  some  homeless  dog  attached  himself  to  Si- 
ward's  heels,  sometimes  trotting  several  blocks,  some 
times  following  him  home — where  the  outcast  was  always 
cared  for,  washed,  fed,  and  ultimately  shipped  out  to 
the  farm,  where  scores  of  these  "  fresh-air "  dogs  re 
sided  on  his  bounty  and  rolled  in  luxury  on  his  lawns. 

Cats,  too,  were  prone  to  notice  him,  rising  as  he 
passed  to  hoist  an  interrogative  tail  and  make  tentative 
observations. 

In  Washington  Square,  these,  and  the  ragged  chil 
dren,  knew  him  best  of  all.  The  children  came  from 
Minetta  Lane  and  the  purlieus  south  and  west  of  it ;  the 
cats  from  the  Mews,  which  Siward  always  thought  most 
appropriate. 

441 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

And  now,  as  he  passed  the  marble  arch  and  entered 
the  square,  glancing  behind  him  he  saw  the  inevitable 
cat  trotting,  and,  at  his  left,  a  very  dirty  little  girl 
pretending  to  trundle  a  hoop,  but  plainly  enough  keep 
ing  sociable  pace  with  him. 

"  Hello !  "  said  Siward.  The  cat  stopped ;  the  child 
tossed  her  clustering  curls,  gave  him  a  rapid  but  fear 
less  sidelong  glance,  laughed,  and  ran  on  in  the  wake  of 
her  hoop.  When  she  caught  it  she  sat  down  on  a  bench 
opposite  the  fountain  and  looked  around  at  Siward. 

"  It's  pretty  warm,  isn't  it?  "  said  Siward,  coming 
up  and  seating  himself  on  the  same  bench. 

"  Are  you  lame  ?  "  asked  the  child. 

"  Oh,  a  little." 

"  Is  your  leg  broken  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  not  now." 

"  Is  that  your  cat?  " 

Siward  looked  around;  the  cat  was  seated  on  the 
bench  beside  him.  But  he  was  accustomed  to  that  sort 
of  thing,  and  he  caressed  the  creature  with  his  gloved 
hand. 

"  Are  you  rich  ?  "  asked  the  child,  shaking  her  blond 
curls  from  her  eyes  and  staring  up  solemnly  at  him. 

"  Not  very,"  he  answered,  smiling.  "  Why  do  you 
ask?" 

"  You  look  rich,  somehow,"  said  the  child  shyly. 

"  What!     With  these  old  and  very  faded  clothes?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  swinging  her  plump  legs :  "  You 
look  it,  somehow.  It  isn't  the  clothes  that  matter." 

"  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,"  said  Siward,  laughing : 
"  I'm  rich  enough  to  buy  all  the  hokey-pokey  you  can 
eat !  "  and  he  glanced  meaningly  at  the  pedlar  of  that 
staple  who  had  taken  station  between  a  vender  of  peaches 
and  a  Greek  flower-seller. 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


The  child  looked,  too,  but  made  no  comment. 

"  How  about  it?  "  asked  Siward. 

"  I'd  rather  have  something  to  remember  you  by," 
said  the  girl  innocently. 

"  What?  "  he  said,  perplexed. 

"  A  rose.  They  are  five  cents,  and  hokey-pokey 
costs  that  much — I  mean,  for  as  much  as  you  can  eat." 

"  Do  you  really  want  a  rose  ?  "  he  said  amused. 

But  the  child  fell  shy,  and  he  beckoned  the  Greek 
and  selected  a  dozen  big,  perfumed  jacks. 

Then,  as  the  child  sat  silent,  her  ragged  arms  piled 
with  roses,  he  asked  her  jestingly  what  else  she  desired. 

"  Nothing.  I  like  to  look  at  you,"  she  answered 
simply. 

"  And  I  like  to  look  at  you.  Will  you  tell  me  your 
name?  " 

"  Molly." 

But  that  is  all  the  information  he  could  extract. 
Presently  she  said  she  was  going,  hesitated,  looked  a 
very  earnest  good-bye,  and  darted  away  across  the  park, 
her  hoop  over  one  arm,  the  crimson  roses  bobbing  above 
her  shoulders.  Something  in  her  flight  attracted  the  er 
rant  cat,  for  she,  too,  jumped  down  and  bounded  after 
the  little  flying  feet,  but,  catlike,  halted  half-way  to 
scratch,  and  then  forgetting  what  she  was  about,  wan 
dered  off  toward  the  Mews  again,  whence  she  had  been 
lured  by  instinctive  fascination. 

Siward,  intensely  amused,  sat  there  in  the  late  sun 
light  which  streamed  through  the  park,  casting  long 
shadows  from  the  elms  and  sycamores.  It  was  that  time 
of  the  day,  just  before  sunset,  when  the  old  square 
looked  to  him  as  he  remembered  it  as  a  child.  Even 
the  marble  arch,  pink  in  the  evening  sun,  did  not  dis 
turb  the  harmony  of  his  memories.  He  saw  his  father 

443 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

once  more,  walking  home  from  down  town,  tall,  slim, 
laughingly  stopping  to  watch  him  as  he  played  there 
with  the  other  children — the  nurses,  seated  in  a  row, 
crocheting  under  the  sycamores;  he  saw  the  old-fash 
ioned  carriage  pass,  Mockett  on  the  box,  Wands  beside 
him,  and  his  pretty  mother  leaning  forward  to  wave  her 
hand  to  him  as  the  long-tailed,  long-maned  horses 
wheeled  into  Fifth  Avenue.  Little  unimportant  scenes, 
trivial  episodes,  grew  in  the  spectral  garden  of  mem 
ory  :  the  first  time  he  ever  saw  Marion  Page,  when,  aged 
five,  she  was  attempting  to  get  into  the  fountain,  pur 
sued  by  a  shrieking  nurse ;  and  a  certain  flight  across 
the  grass  he  had  indulged  in  with  Leila  Mortimer,  then 
Leila  Egerton,  aged  six,  in  hot  pursuit,  because  she 
found  that  it  bored  him  horribly  to  be  kissed,  and  she 
was  bound  to  do  it.  He  had  a  fight  once,  over  by  that 
gnarled,  old,  silver  poplar-tree,  with  Kemp  Ferrall — he 
could  not  remember  what  about,  only  that  they  ended  by 
unanimously  assaulting  their  nurses  and  were  dragged 
howling  homeward. 

He  turned,  looking  across  to  where  the  gray  towers 
of  the  University  once  stood.  There  had  been  an  old 
stone  church  there,  too ;  and,  south  of  that,  old,  old 
houses  with  hip-roofs  and  dormers  where  now  the  high 
white  cliffs  of  modern  architecture  rose,  riddled  with 
tiny  windows,  every  pane  glittering  in  the  sun.  South, 
the  old  houses  still  remained,  now  degraded  to  sordid 
uses.  North,  the  square,  red-brick  mansions,  with  their 
wThite  pillars  and  steps,  still  faced  the  sunset — the  last 
practically  unbroken  rank  of  the  old  regime,  the  last 
of  the  old  guard,  standing  fast  and  still  confronting, 
still  resisting  the  Inevitable  looming  in  limestone  and 
granite,  story  piled  on  story,  aloft  in  the  kindling, 
southern  sky. 

444 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


A  cab,  driven  smartly,  passed  through  the  park,  the 
horses'  feet  slapping  the  asphalt  till  the  echoes  rattled 
back  from  the  marble  arch.  He  followed  it  idly  with 
his  eyes  up  Fifth  Avenue;  saw  it  suddenly  halt  in  the 
middle  of  the  street;  saw  a  woman  spring  out,  stand 
for  a  moment  talking  to  her  companion,  then  turn  and 
look  toward  the  square. 

She  stood  so  long,  and  she  was  so  far  away,  that  he 
presently  grew  tired  of  watching  her.  A  dozen  ragged 
urchins  were  prowling  around  the  fountain,  casting 
sidelong  glances  at  a  distant  policeman.  But  it  was 
not  hot  enough  that  evening  to  permit  the  children  to 
splash  in  the  water,  and  the  policeman  drove  them  off. 

"  Poor  little  devils !  "  said  Siward  to  himself ;  and 
he  rose,  adjusted  his  crutches,  and  started  through 
the  park  with  a  vague  idea  of  seeing  what  could  be 
done. 

As  he  limped  onward,  the  sun  level  in  his  eyes,  he 
heard  somebody  speak  behind  him,  but  did  not  catch 
the  words  or  apply  the  hail  to  himself.  Then,  "  Mr. 
Siward !  "  came  the  low,  breathless  voice  at  his  elbow. 

His  heart  stopped  as  he  did.  The  sun  had  dazzled 
his  eyes,  and  when  he  turned  on  his  crutches  he  could 
not  see  clearly  for  a  second.  That  past,  he  looked 
at  Sylvia,  looked  at  her  outstretched  hand,  took  it  me 
chanically,  still  staring  at  her  with  only  a  dazed  unbe 
lief  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  am  in  town  for  a  day,"  she  said.  "  Leila 
Mortimer  and  I  were  driving  up  town  from  the  bank 
when  we  saw  you;  and  the  next  thing  that  happened 
was  me,  on  Fifth  Avenue,  running  after  you — no,  the 
next  thing  was  my  flying  leap  from  the  hansom,  and 
my  standing  there  looking  down  the  street  and  across 
the  square  where  you  sat.  Then  Leila  told  me  I  was 

445 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

probably  crazy,  and  I  immediately  confirmed  her  diag 
nosis  by  running  after  you !  " 

She  stood  laughing,  flushed,  sunburned,  and  breath- 
lees,  her  left  hand  still  in  his,  her  right  hand  laid  over  it. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  change  to  anxiety, 
"  does  it  tire  you  to  stand  ?  " 

"  No.     I  was  going  to  saunter  along." 

"  May  I  saunter  with  you  for  a  moment?  I  mean 
— I  only  mean,  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  let  you  go  now?  "  he 
asked,  astonished. 

She  looked  at  him,  then  her  eyes  evaded  his :  "  Let 
us  walk  a  little,"  she  said,  withdrawing  her  hand,  "  if 
you  think  you  are  strong  enough." 

"  Strong !  Look,  Sylvia ! "  and  he  stood  unsup 
ported  by  his  crutches,  then  walked  a  little  way,  slowly, 
but  quite  firmly.  "  I  am  rather  a  coward  about  my 
foot,  that  is  all.  I  shall  not  lug  these  things  about 
after  to-day." 

"  Did  the  doctor  say  you  might?  " 

"  Yes,  after  to-day.  I  could  walk  home  now  with 
out  them.  I  could  do  a  good  many  things  I  couldn't  do 
a  few  minutes  ago.  Isn't  that  curious  ?  " 

"  Very,"  she  said,  avoiding  his  eyes. 

He  laughed.  She  dared  not  look  at  him.  The  ex 
citement  and  impetus  of  sheer  impulse  had  carried  her 
this  far;  now  all  the  sadness  of  it  was  clutching  hard 
at  her  throat  and  for  awhile  she  could  not  speak — walk 
ing  there  in  her  dainty,  summer  gown  beside  him,  the 
very  incarnation  of  youth  and  health,  with  the  sea-tan 
on  wrist  and  throat,  and  he,  white,  hollow-eyed,  crippled, 
limping,  at  her  elbow ! 

Yet  at  that  very  moment  his  whole  frame  seemed  to 
glow  and  his  heart  clamour  with  the  courage  in  it,  for 

446 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


he  was  thinking  of  Plank's  words  and  he  knew  Plank 
had  spoken  the  truth.  She  could  not  give  herself  to 
Quarrier,  if  he  stood  firm.  His  was  the  stronger  will 
after  all;  his  was  the  right  to  interfere,  to  stop  her, 
to  check  her,  to  take  her,  draw  her  back — as  he  had  once 
drawn  her  from  the  fascination  of  destruction  when  she 
had  swayed  out  too  far  over  the  cliffs  at  Shotover. 

"  Do  you  remember  that?  "  he  asked,  and  spoke  of 
the  incident. 

"  Yes,  I  remember,"  she  replied,  smiling. 

"  Doctors  say  "  he  continued,  "  that  there  is  a  weak 
streak  in  people  who  are  affected  by  great  heights,  or 
who  find  a  dizzy  fascination  drawing  them  toward  the 
brink  of  precipices." 

"  Do  you  mean  me?  "  she  asked,  amused. 

But  he  continued  serenely :  "  You  have  seen  those 
pigeons  called  '  tumbler  pigeons  '  suddenly  turn  a  cart 
wheel  in  mid-air?  Scientists  say  it's  not  for  pleasure 
they  do  it ;  it's  because  they  get  dizzy.  In  other  words, 
they  are  not  perfectly  normal." 

She  said,  laughing :  "  Well,  you  never  saw  me  turn 
a  cart-wheel !  " 

"  Only  a  moral  one,"  he  replied  airily. 

"  Stephen,  what  on  earth  do  you  mean?  You're  not 
going  to  be  disagreeable,  are  you?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  be  so  agreeable,"  he  said,  laughing, 
"  that  you  will  find  it  very  difficult  to  tear  yourself 
away." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  but  I  must,  and  very  soon." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  let  you." 

"  It  can't  be  helped,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him. 
"  I  came  in  with  Leila.  We're  asked  to  Lenox  for  the 
week's  end.  We  go  to  Stockbridge  on  the  early  train 
to-morrow  morning." 

447 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  I  don't  care,"  he  said  doggedly ;  "  I'm  not  going 
to  let  you  go  yet." 

"  If  I  took  to  my  heels  here  in  the  park  would  you 
chase  me,  Stephen  ?  "  she  asked  with  mock  anxiety. 

"  Yes ;  and  if  I  couldn't  run  fast  enough  I'd  call 
that  policeman.  Now  do  you  begin  to  understand?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  always  understood  that  you  were  spoiled. 
I'm  partly  guilty  of  the  spoiling  process,  too.  Listen: 
I'll  walk  with  you  a  little  way  " — she  looked  at  him — 
"  a  little  way,"  she  continued  gently ;  "  then  I  must  go. 
There  is  only  a  caretaker  in  our  house  and  Leila  will 
be  furious  if  I  leave  her  all  alone.  Besides,  we're  going 
to  dine  there  and  it  won't  be  very  gay  if  I  don't  give 
a  few  orders  first." 

"  But  you  brought  your  maid?  " 

"Naturally." 

"  Then  telephone  her  that  you  and  Leila  are  dining 
out." 

"  Where,  silly  ?  Do  you  want  us  to  dine  somewhere 
with  you?  " 

"  Want  you !    You've  got  to !  " 

"  Stephen,  it  isn't  best." 

"  It  is  best." 

She  turned  to  him  impulsively :  "  Oh,  I  do  want  to 
so  much!  Do  you  think  I  might?  It  is  perfectly  deli 
cious  to  see  you  again.  I — you  have  no  idea — — " 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  he  said  sternly. 

They  turned,  walking  past  the  fountain  toward  Fifth 
Avenue  again.  Furtively  she  glanced  at  his  hands  with 
the  city  pallor  on  them  as  they  grasped  the  cross-bars 
of  the  crutches,  then  looked  up  at  his  worn  face.  He  was 
much  thinner,  but  now  in  the  softly  fading  light  the 
shadows  under  the  eyes  and  cheek-bones  seemed  less 
sharp,  his  face  fuller  and  more  boyish;  the  contour  of 

448 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


head  and  shoulders,  the  short,  crisp  hair  were  as  she  re 
membered — and  the  old  charm  held  her,  the  old  fascina 
tion  grew,  tightening  her  throat,  stealing  through 
every  vein,  stirring  her  pulses,  awakening  imperceptibly 
once  more  the  best  in  her.  The  twilight  of  a  thousand 
years  seemed  to  slip  from  the  world  as  she  looked  out  at 
it  through  eyes  opening  from  a  long,  long  sleep;  the 
marble  arch  burned  rosy  in  the  evening  glow;  a  fairy 
haze  hung  over  the  enchanted  avenue,  stretching  away, 
away  into  the  blue  magic  of  the  city  of  dreams. 

"  There  is  no  use,"  she  said  under  her  breath ;  "  I 
can't  go  back  to  Leila.  Stephen,  the  dreadful  part  of 
it  is  that  I — I  wish  she  were  in  Jericho!  I  wish  the 
whole  world  were  in  Ballyhoo,  and  you  and  I  alone  once 
more !  " 

Under  their  gay  laughter  quivered  the  undertone  of 
excitement.  Sylvia  said: 

"  I'd  like  to  talk  to  you  all  alone.  It  won't  do, 
of  course;  but  I  may  say  what  I'd  like — mayn't  I? 
What  time  is  it?  If  I'm  dining  with  you  we've  got 
to  have  Leila  for  convention's  sake,  if  not  from  mo 
tives  of  sheer  decency,  which  you  and  I  seem  to  lack, 
Stephen." 

"  We  lack  decency,"  said  Siward,  "  and  we're  proud 
of  it.  As  for  Leila,  I  am  going  to  arrange  for  her  very 
simply  but  very  beautifully.  Plank  will  take  care  of 
her.  Sylvia !  There's  not  a  soul  in  town  and  we  can  be 
as  imprudent  as  we  please." 

"  No,  we  can't.  Agatha's  at  the  Santa  Regina.  She 
came  down  with  us." 

"  But  we  are  not  going  to  dine  at  the  Santa  Regina. 
We're  going  where  Agatha  wouldn't  intrude  her  colour 
less  nose — to  a  thoroughly  unfashionable  and  selectly 
common  resort  overlooking  the  classic  Harlem ;  and  we're 

449 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

going  to  whiz  thither  in  Plank's  car,  and  remain  thither 
until  you  yawn  for  mercy,  whence  we  will  return 
thence " 

"  Stephen,  you  silly !  I'm  perfectly  mad  to  go  with 
you !  " 

"  You'll  be  madder  when  you  get  there,  if  the  table 
has  not  improved." 

"  Table !  As  though  tables  mattered  on  a  night  like 
this  !  "  Then  with  sudden  self-reproach  and  quick  solici 
tude:  "  Am  I  making  you  walk  too  far?  Wouldn't  you 
like  to  go  in  now  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  not  tired ;  I'm  millions  of  years  younger, 
and  I'm  as  strong  as  the  nine  gods  of  your  friend  Por- 
sena.  Besides,  haven't  I  waited  for  this?  "  and  under 
his  breath,  fiercely,  "  Haven't  I  waited !  "  he  repeated, 
turning  on  her. 

"  Do — do  you  mean  that  as  a  reproach?  "  she  asked, 
lowering  her  eyes. 

"  No.  I  knew  you  would  not  come  on  '  the  first 
sunny  day.' ' 

"  Why  did  you  think  I  would  not  come  ?  Did  you 
know  me  for  the  coward  I  am  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  think  you  would  come,"  he  repeated,  halt 
ing  to  rest  on  his  crutches.  He  stood,  balanced,  staring 
dreamily  into  the  dim  perspective;  and  again  her  fas 
cinated  eyes  ventured  to  rest  on  the  worn,  white  face, 
listless,  sombre  in  its  fixedness. 

The  tears  were  very  near  her  eyes ;  the  spasm  in  her 
throat  checked  speech.  At  length  she  stammered :  "  I 
did  not  come  b-because  I  simply  couldn't  stand  it !  " 

His  face  cleared  as  he  turned  quietly :  "  Child,  you 
must  not  confuse  matters.  You  must  not  think  of  being 
sorry  for  me.  The  old  order  is  passing — ticking  away  on 
every  clock  in  the  world.  All  that  inverted  order  of 

450 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


things  is  being  reversed.  You  don't  know  what  I  mean, 
do  you?  Ah,  well;  you  will  know  when  I  grow  into 
something  of  what  you  think  you  remember  in  me,  and 
when  I  grow  out  of  what  I  really  was." 

"  Truly  I  don't  understand,"  Stephen.  But  then— 
I  am  out  of  training  since  you  went — went  out  of  things. 
Have  I  changed?  Do  I  seem  more  dull?  I — it  has  not 
been  very  gay  with  me.  I  don't  see — looking  back 
across  all  the  noise,  all  the  chaos  of  the  winter — I  do  not 
see  how  I  stood  it  alone." 

"Alone?" 

"  N-not  seeing  you — sometimes." 

He  looked  at  her  with  smiling,  sceptical  eyes. 
"  Didn't  you  enjoy  the  winter?  " 

"  Do  you  enjoy  being  drugged  with  champagne?  " 

His  face  altered  so  quickly  that,  confused,  she  only 
stared  at  him,  the  fixed  smile  stamped  on  her  lips ;  then, 
overwhelmed  in  the  revelation  : 

"  Stephen,  surely,  surely  you  know  what  I  meant !  I 
did  not  mean  thatl  Dear,  do  you  dream  for  one  mo 
ment  that— that  I  could " 

"  No.  You  have  not  hurt  me.  Besides,  I  know  what 
you  mean." 

After  a  moment  he  swung  forward  on  his  crutches, 
biting  his  lip,  the  frown  gathering  between  his  temples. 

They  were  passing  the  big,  old-fashioned  hotel  with 
its  white  fa9ade  and  green  blinds,  a  lingering  landmark 
of  the  older  city. 

"  We'll  telephone  here,"  he  said. 

Side  by  side  they  went  up  the  great,  broad  stoop  and 
entered  the  lobby. 

"  If  you'll  speak  to  Leila,  I'll  get  Plank  on  the  wire. 
Say  that  we'll  stop  for  you  at  seven." 

She  gave  her  number ;  then,  at  the  nod  of  the  opera- 
451 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

tor,  entered  a  small  booth.     Siward  was  given  another 
booth  in  a  few  moments. 

Plank  answered  from  his  office;  his  voice  sounded 
grave  and  tired  but  it  quickened,  tinged  with  surprise, 
when  Siward  made  known  his  plan  for  the  evening. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Mortimer  in  town?  "  he  demanded.  "  I 
had  a  wire  from  her  that  she  expected  to  be  here  and  I 
hoped  to  see  her  at  the  station  to-morrow  on  her  way 
to  Lenox." 

"  She's  stopping  with  Miss  Landis.  Can't  you  man 
age  to  come?  "  asked  Siward  anxiously. 

"  I  don't  know.  Do  you  wish  it  particularly  ?  I  have 
just  seen  Quarrier  and  Harrington.  I  can't  quite  un 
derstand  Quarrier's  atitude.  There's  a  certain  hint  of 
defiance  about  it.  Harrington  is  all  caved  in.  He  is 
ready  to  thank  us  for  any  mercies.  But  Quarrier — 
there's  something  I  don't  fancy,  don't  exactly  under 
stand  about  his  attitude.  He's  like  a  dangerous  man 
whom  you've  searched  for  concealed  weapons,  and  who 
knows  you've  overlooked  the  knife  up  his  sleeve.  That's 
why  I've  expected  to  spend  a  quiet  evening,  studying 
up  the  matter  and  examining  every  loophole." 

"  You've  got  to  dine  somewhere,"  said  Siward.  "  If 
you  could  fix  it  to  dine  with  us —  But  I  wron't  urge 
you." 

"  All  right.  I  don't  know  why  I  shouldn't.  I  don't 
know  why  I  feel  this  way  about  things.  I — I  rather 
felt — you'll  laugh,  Siward! — that  somehow  I'd  better 
not  go  out  of  my  own  house  to-night ;  that  I  was  safer, 
better  off  in  my  own  house,  studying  this  Quarrier  mat 
ter  out.  I'm  tired,  I  suppose;  and  this  man  Quarrier 
has  come  close  to  worrying  me.  But  it's  all  right,  of 
course,  if  you  wish  it.  You  know  I  haven't  any  nerves." 

"  If  you  are  tired — "  began  Siward. 
452 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


"  No,  no,  I'm  not.  I'll  go.  Will  you  say  that  we'll 
stop  for  them  at  seven?  Really,  it's  all  right,  Siward." 

"  I  don't  want  to  urge  you,"  repeated  Siward. 

"  You're  not.  I'll  go.  But — wait  one  moment ! — 
tell  me,  did  Quarrier  know  that  Mrs.  Mortimer  was  to 
stop  with  Miss  Landis  ?  " 

"  Wait  a  moment.     Hold  the  wire." 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  booth  and  saw  Sylvia 
waiting  for  him,  seated  by  the  operator's  desk.  She  rose 
at  once  when  she  saw  he  wished  to  speak  with  her. 

"  Tell  me  something,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice ;  "  did 
Mr.  Quarrier  know  that  Leila  was  to  stay  overnight 
with  you?  " 

"Yes,"  she  answered  quietly,  surprised.     "Why?" 

Siward  nodded  vaguely,  closed  the  door  again,  and 
said  to  Plank: 

"  Yes,  Quarrier  knows  it.  Do  you  think  he'll  be 
there  to-night?  I  don't  suppose  Miss  Landis  and  Mrs. 
Mortimer  know  he  is  in  town." 

Plank's  troubled  voice  came  back  over  the  wire :  "  I 
don't  know.  I  don't  know  what  to  think.  I  suppose  I'm 
a  little,  just  a  trifle,  overworked.  Somebody  once  said 
that  I  had  one  nerve  in  me  somewhere,  and  Quarrier's 
probably  found  it ;  that's  all." 

"  If  you  think  it  better  not  to  come " 

"  I'll  come.  I'll  stop  for  you  in  the  motor.  Don't 
worry,  old  fellow!  And — take  your  -fighting  chance! 
Good-bye !  " 

Siward,  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts,  rose  and 
walked  slowly  out  of  the  booth,  utterly  unconscious  that 
he  had  left  his  crutches  leaning  upright  in  the  corner. 
It  was  only  the  surprise  dawning  into  tremulous  de 
light  on  Sylvia's  face  that  at  last  arrested  him. 

"  See  what  you  have  done ! "  he  said,  laughing 
453 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

through  his  own  surprise.     "  I've  a  mind  to  leave  them 
there  now,  and  trust  to  your  new  cure." 

But  she  was  instantly  concerned  and  anxious,  and 
entering  the  booth  brought  out  the  crutches  and  forced 
him  to  take  them. 

"  No  risks  now !  "  she  said  decisively.  "  We  have 
too  much  at  stake  this  evening.  Leila  is  coming.  Isn't 
it  perfectly  delightful?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  he  said,  his  eyes  full  of  the  old  laugh 
ing  confidence  again ;  "  and  the  most  delightful  part 
of  it  all  is  that  you  don't  know  how  delightful  it  is 
going  to  be." 

"  Don't  I?  Very  well.  Only  I  inform  you  that  I 
mean  to  be  perfectly  happy !  And  that  means  that  I'm 
going  to  do  as  I  please!  And  that  means — oh,  it  may 
mean  anything!  What  are  you  laughing  at,  Stephen? 
I  know  I'm  excited.  I  don't  care !  What  girl  wouldn't 
be?  And  I  don't  know  what's  ahead  of  me  at  all;  and 
I  don't  want  to  know — I  don't  care !  " 

Her  reckless,  little  laugh  rang  sweetly  in  the  old- 
fashioned,  deserted  hall ;  her  lovely,  daring  eyes  met  his 
undaunted. 

"  You  won't  make  love  to  me,  will  you,  Stephen?  " 

"  Will  you  promise  me  the  same?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  silly !  How  do  I  know  what  I  might 
say  to  you,  you  big,  blundering  boy,  who  can't  take  care 
of  himself  ?  I  don't  know  at  all ;  I  won't  promise.  I'm 
likely  to  do  anything  to-night — even  before  Leila  and 
Mr.  Plank — when  you  are  with  me.  Shame  on  you  for 
the  shameless  girl  you've  educated !  "  Her  voice  fell, 
tremulously,  and  for  an  instant  standing  there  she  re 
membered  her  education  and  his  part  in  it. 

The  slow  colour  in  his  face  reflected  the  pink  con 
fusion  in  hers. 

454 


THE   SELLING   PRICE 


"  O  tongue !  tongue !  "  she  stammered,  "  I  can't  hold 
you  in !  I  can't  curb  you,  and  I  can't  make  you  say 
what  you  ought  to  be  saying  to  that  boy.  There's 
trouble  coming  for  somebody;  there's  trouble  here  al 
ready  !  Call  me  a  cab,  Stephen,  or  I'll  be  dragging  you 
into  that  big,  old-fashioned  parlour  and  planting  you 
on  a  chair  and  placing  myself  opposite,  to  moon  over 
you  until  somebody  puts  us  out !  There !  Now  will  you 
call  me  a  hansom?  .  .  .  And  I  will  be  all  ready  at 
seven.  .  .  .  And  don't  dare  to  keep  me  waiting  one  sec 
ond  !  .  .  .  Come  before  seven.  You  don't  want  to 
frighten  me,  do  you?  Very  well  then,  at  a  quarter  to 
seven — so  I  shall  not  be  frightened.  And,  Stephen, 
Stephen,  we're  doing  exactly  what  we  ought  not  to  do. 
You  know  it,  don't  you?  So  do  I.  Nothing  can  stop 
us,  can  it  ?  Good-bye !  " 


30  455 


CHAPTER    XIV 

THE    BARGAIN 

IF  a  man's  grief  does  not  awaken  his  dignity,  then 
he  has  none.  In  that  event,  grief  is  not  even  respect 
able.  And  so  it  was  with  Leroy  Mortimer  when  Lydia 
at  last  turned  on  him.  If  you  caress  an  Angora  too 
long  and  too  persistently  it  runs  away.  And  before 
it  goes  it  scratches. 

Under  all  the  physical  degeneration  of  mind  and 
flesh  there  had  still  remained  in  Mortimer  the  capacity 
for  animal  affection ;  and  that  does  not  mean  sensuality 
alone,  but  generosity  and  a  sort  of  routine  devotion  as 
characteristic  components  of  a  character  which  had  now 
disintegrated  into  the  simplest  and  most  primitive  ele 
ments. 

Lydia  Vyse  left  Saratoga  when  the  financial  strin 
gency  began  to  make  it  unpleasant  for  her  to  remain. 
She  told  Mortimer  without  the  slightest  compunction 
that  she  was  going. 

He  did  not  believe  her  and  he  gave  her  the  new 
car  —  the  big  yellow-and-black  Serin-Chanteur.  She 
sold  it  the  same  day  to  a  bookmaker — an  old  friend  of 
hers;  withdrew  several  jewels  from  limbo — gems  which 
Mortimer  had  given  her — and  gathered  together  every 
thing  for  which,  if  he  turned  ugly,  she  might  not  be 
criminally  liable. 

She  had  never  liked  him — she  had  long  disliked  him. 
Such  women  have  an  instinct  for  their  own  kind,  ,and 

456 


THE   BARGAIN 


no  matter  how  low  in  the  scale  a  man  of  the  other  kind 
sinks  he  can  never  entirely  supply  the  type  of  running 
mate  that  such  women  require,  understand,  and  usually 
conceive  a  passion  for. 

Not  liking  him  she  had  no  hesitation  in  the  matter ; 
disliking  him,  whatever  unpleasant  had  occurred  during 
their  companionship  remained  as  an  irritant  to  poison 
memory.  She  resented  a  thousand  little  incidents  that 
he  scarcely  knew  had  ever  existed,  but  which  she  treas 
ured  without  wasting  emotion  until  the  sum  total  and 
the  time  coincided  to  retaliate.  Not  that  she  would 
have  cared  to  harm  him  seriously;  she  was  willing 
enough  to  disoblige  him,  however — decorate  him,  before 
she  left  him,  with  one  extra  scratch  for  the  sake  of  auld 
lang  syne.  So  she  wrote  a  note  to  the  governors  of  the 
Patroons  Club,  saying  that  both  Quarrier  and  Morti 
mer  were  aware  that  the  guilt  of  her  escapade  could 
not  be  attached  to  Siward;  that  she  knew  nothing  of 
Siward,  had  accepted  his  wager  without  meaning  to  at 
tempt  to  win  it,  had  never  again  seen  him,  and  had,  on 
the  impulse  of  the  moment,  made  her  entry  in  the  wake 
of  several  men.  She  added  that  when  Quarrier,  as  gov 
ernor,  had  concurred  in  Si  ward's  expulsion  he  knew 
perfectly  well  that  Siward  was  not  guilty,  because  she 
herself  had  so  informed  Quarrier.  Since  then  she  had 
also  told  Mortimer,  but  he  had  taken  no  steps  to  do 
justice  to  Siward,  although  he,  Mortimer,  was  still  a 
governor  of  the  Patroons  Club. 

This  being  about  all  she  could  think  of  to  make 
mischief  for  two  men  whose  recent  companionship  had 
nourished  and  irritated  her,  she  shipped  her  trunks  by 
express,  packed  her  jewel-case  and  valise,  and  met  Des 
mond  at  the  station. 

Desmond  had  business  in  Europe;  Lydia  had  as 
457 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

much  business  there  as  anywhere ;  and,  although  she  had 
been  faithless  to  Mortimer  for  a  comparatively  short 
time,  within  that  time  Desmond  already  had  sworn  at 
her  and  struck  her.  So  she  was  quite  ready  to  follow 
Desmond  anywhere  in  this  world  or  the  next.  And  that, 
too,  had  not  made  her  the  more  considerate  toward  Mor 
timer. 

When  the  latter  returned  from  the  races  to  find  her 
gone  the  last  riddled  props  to  what  passed  for  his  man 
hood  gave  way  and  the  rotten  fabric  came  crashing  into 
the  mud. 

He  had  loved  her  as  far  as  he  had  been  capable  of 
imitating  that  passion  on  the  transposed  plane  to  which 
he  had  fallen ;  he  was  stupefied  at  first,  then  grew  vio 
lent  with  the  furniture,  then  hysterically  profane,  then 
pitiable  in  the  abandoned  degradation  of  his  grief. 
And,  suspecting  Desmond,  he  started  to  find  him.  They 
put  him  out  of  Desmond's  club-house  when  he  be 
came  noisy;  they  refused  him  admittance  to  several 
similar  resorts  where  his  noise  threatened  to  continue; 
his  landlord  lost  no  time  in  interviewing  him  upon 
the  subject  of  damage  to  furniture  from  kicks  and  to 
the  walls  and  carpets  from  the  contents  of  smashed 
bottles. 

Creditors  with  sharp  noses  scented  the  whirlwind 
afar  off  and  hemmed  him  in  with  unsettled  accounts, 
mostly  hers.  Somebody  placed  a  lien  on  his  horses; 
a  deputy  sheriff  began  to  follow  him  about;  all  credit 
ceased  as  by  magic,  and  men  crossed  the  street  to  avoid 
meeting  with  an  old  companion  in  direst  need. 

Still,  alternately  stupefied  by  his  own  grief  and 
maddened  into  the  necessity  for  action,  he  packed  a  suit 
case,  crawled  out  of  the  rear  door,  toiled  across  country 
and  found  a  farmer  to  drive  him  twenty  miles  over  a 

458 


THE   BARGAIN 


sandy  road  to  a  local  railroad  crossing,  where  he  man 
aged  to  board  a  train  for  Albany. 

At  Albany,  as  he  stood  panting  and  sweating  on  the 
long,  concrete  platform  which  paralleled  track  No.  1, 
he  saw  a  private  car,  switched  from  a  Boston  and  Al 
bany  train,  shunted  to  the  rear  of  the  Merchants'  Ex 
press. 

The  private  car  was  lettered  in  gold  on  the  central 
panel,  "  Algonquin."  He  boarded  the  Pullman  coupled 
to  it  forward,  pushed  through  the  vestibule,  shoved  aside 
the  Japanese  steward  and  darky  cook,  forcing  his  way 
straight  into  the  private  car.  Quarrier,  reading  a  mag 
azine,  looked  up  at  him  in  astonishment.  For  a  full 
moment  neither  spoke.  Then  Mortimer  dropped  his 
suit-case,  sat  down  in  an  armchair  opposite  Quarrier, 
and  leisurely  mopped  his  reeking  face  and  neck. 

"  Scotch  and  lithia !  "  he  said  hoarsely ;  the  Japa 
nese  steward  looked  at  Quarrier;  then,  at  that  gentle 
man's  almost  imperceptible  nod,  went  away  to  execute 
the  commission. 

He  executed  a  great  many  similar  commissions  dur 
ing  the  trip  to  New  York.  When  they  arrived  there 
at  five  o'clock,  Quarrier  offered  Mortimer  his  hand,  and 
held  the  trembling,  puffy  fingers  as  he  leaned  closer, 
saying  with  cold  precision  and  emotionless  emphasis 
something  that  appeared  to  require  the  full  concentra 
tion  of  Mortimer's  half-drugged  faculties. 

And  when  at  length  Mortimer  drove  away  in  a  han 
som,  Quarrier's  Japanese  steward  went  with  him — per 
haps  to  carry  his  suit  case — a  courtesy  that  did  credit 
to  Quarrier's  innate  thoughtfulness  and  consideration 
for  others.  He  was  very  considerate;  he  even  called 
Agatha  up  on  the  telephone  and  talked  with  her  for 
ten  minutes.  Then  he  telephoned  to  Plank's  office, 

459 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

learned  that  Harrington  was  already  there,  telephoned 
the  garage  for  a  Mercedes  which  he  always  kept  ready 
in  town,  and  presently  went  bowling  away  to  a  confer 
ence  on  which  the  last  few  hours  had  put  an  entirely  new 
aspect. 

It  had  taken  Plank  only  a  few  minutes  to  perceive 
that  something  had  occurred  to  change  a  point  of  view 
which  he  had  believed  it  impossible  for  Quarrier  to 
change.  Something  had  gone  wrong  in  his  own  careful 
calculations;  some  cog  had  slipped,  some  rivet  given 
way,  some  bed-plate  cracked.  And  Harrington  evi 
dently  had  not  been  aware  of  it ;  but  Quarrier  knew  it. 
There  was  something  wrong. 

It  was  too  late  now  to  go  tinkering  in  the  dark  for 
trouble.  Plank  understood  that.  Coolly,  as  though  ut 
terly  unaware  that  the  machinery  might  not  stand  the 
strain,  he  started  it  full  speed.  And  when  he  stopped 
it  at  last  Harrington's  grist  had  been  ground  to  atoms, 
and  Quarrier  had  looked  on  without  comment.  There 
seemed  to  be  little  more  for  them  to  do  except  to  pay 
the  miller. 

"  To-morrow,"  said  Quarrier,  rising  to  go.  It  was 
on  the  edge  of  Plank's  lips  to  say,  "  to-day !  " — but  he 
was  silent,  knowing  that  Harrington  would  speak  for 
him.  And  the  old  man  did,  without  words,  turning  his 
iron  visage  on  Quarrier  with  the  silent  dignity  of  de 
spair.  But  Quarrier  coldly  demanded  a  day  before  they 
reckoned  with  Plank.  And  Plank,  profoundly  dis 
turbed,  shrugged  his  massive  shoulders  in  contemptuous 
assent. 

So  Quarrier  and  Harrington  went  away — the 
younger  partner  taking  leave  of  the  older  with  a  sneer 
for  an  outworn  prop  which  no  man  could  ever  again 
have  use  for.  Old  and  beaten — that  was  all  Harring- 

460 


THE   BARGAIN 


ton  now  stood  for  in  Quarrier's  eyes.  Never  a  thought 
of  the  past  undaunted  courage,  never  a  memory  of  the 
old  victories  which  had  made  the  Quarrier  fortune  pos 
sible — only  contempt  for  age,  a  sneer  for  the  mind  and 
body  that  had  failed  at  last.  The  old  robber  was  done 
for,  his  armour  rotten,  his  buckler  broken,  his  sword 
blade  rusted  to  the  core.  The  least  of  his  victims  might 
now  finish  him  with  a  club  where  he  swayed  in  his 
loosened  saddle,  or  leave  him  to  that  horseman  on  the 
pale  horse  watching  him  yonder  on  the  horizon. 

For  now,  whether  Harrington  lived  or  died,  he  must 
be  counted  as  nothing  in  this  new  struggle  darkly  out 
lining  its  initial  strategy  in  Quarrier's  brain.  What 
was  coming  was  coming  between  himself  and  Plank 
alone ;  and  whatever  the  result — whether  an  armed  truce 
leaving  affairs  indefinitely  in  statu  quo,  or  the  other  al 
ternative,  an  alliance  with  Plank,  leaving  Harrington 
like  a  king  in  his  mail,  propped  upon  his  throne,  dead 
eyes  doubly  darkened  under  the  closed  helmet — the  re 
sult  must  be  attained  swiftly,  with  secrecy,  and  with  the 
aid  of  no  man.  For  he  did  not  count  Mortimer  a  man. 

So  Quarrier's  thin  lips  twitched  and  the  glimmer  of 
teeth  showed  under  the  silky  beard  as  he  listened  with 
out  comment  to  the  old  man's  hesitating  words — a  trem 
ulous  suggestion  for  a  conference  that  evening — and  he 
said  again,  "  to-morrow,"  and  left  him  there  alone, 
groping  with  uncertain  hands  toward  the  door  of  the 
hired  coupe  which  had  brought  him  to  the  place  of  his 
earthly  downfall;  the  place  where  he  had  met  his  own 
weird  face  to  face — the  wraith  that  bore  the  mask  of 
Plank. 

Quarrier,  brooding  sullenly  in  his  Mercedes,  was  al 
ready  far  up  town  on  his  way  to  Major  Belwether's 
house. 

461 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

At  the  door,  Sylvia's  maid  received  him  smilingly, 
saying  that  her  mistress  was  not  at  home  but  that  Mrs. 
Mortimer  was — which  saved  Quarrier  the  necessity  of 
asking  for  the  private  conference  with  Leila  which  was 
exactly  what  he  had  come  for.  But  her  first  unguarded 
words  on  receiving  him  as  he  rose  at  her  entrance  into 
the  darkened  drawing-room  changed  that  plan,  too — 
changed  it  all  so  utterly,  and  so  much  for  the  better, 
that  he  almost  smiled  to  think  of  the  crudity  of  human 
combinations  and  inventions  as  compared  to  the  mas 
terly  machinations  of  Fate.  No  need  for  him  to  com 
plicate  matters  when  here  were  pawns  enough  to  play 
the  game  for  him.  No  need  for  him  to  do  anything 
except  give  them  their  initial  velocity  and  let  them 
tumble  into  one  another  and  totter  or  fall.  Leila  said, 
laughingly :  "  Oh,  you  are  too  late,  Howard.  We  are 
dining  with  Mr.  Plank  at  Riverside  Inn.  What  in  the 
world  are  you  doing  in  town  so  suddenly  ?  " 

"  A  business  telegram.  I  might  have  come  down 
with  you  and  Sylvia  if  I  had  known.  ...  Is  Plank 
dining  with  you  alone  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  seen  him,"  smiled  Leila  evasively.  "  He 
will  tell  us  his  plans  of  course  when  he  comes." 

"  Oh,"  said  Quarrier,  dropping  his  eyes  and  glanc 
ing  furtively  toward  the  curtained  windows  through 
which  he  could  see  the  street  and  his  Mercedes  waiting 
at  the  curb.  At  the  same  instant  a  hansom  drove  up; 
Sylvia  sprang  out,  ran  lightly  up  the  low  steps,  and 
the  silent,  shrouded  house  rang  with  the  clamour  of 
the  bell. 

Leila  looked  curiously  at  Quarrier,  who  sat  motion 
less,  head  partly  averted,  as  though  listening  to  some 
thing  heard  by  him  alone.  He  believed  perhaps  that 
he  was  listening  to  the  voice  of  Fate  again,  and  it  may 

462 


THE   BARGAIN 


have  been  so,  for  already,  for  the  third  time,  all  his 
plans  were  changing  to  suit  this  new  ally  of  his — this 
miraculous  Fate  which  was  shaping  matters  for  him  as 
he  waited.  Sylvia  had  started  up-stairs  like  a  fragrant 
whirlwind,  but  her  flying  feet  halted  at  Leila's  con 
strained  voice  from  the  drawing-room,  and  she  spun 
around  and  came  into  the  darkened  room  like  an  April 
breeze. 

"  Leila !     They'll  be  here  at  a  quarter  to  seven " 

Her  breath  seemed  to  leave  her  body  as  a  shadowy 
figure  rose  in  the  uncertain  light  and  confronted  her. 

"  You  !  " 

He  said :  "  Didn't  you  recognise  the  Mercedes  out 
side?  " 

She  had  not  even  seen  it,  so  excited,  so  deeply  en 
gaged  had  she  been  with  the  riotous  tumult  of  her  own 
thoughts.  And  still  her  hurt,  unbelieving  gaze  widened 
to  dismay  as  she  stood  there  halted  on  the  threshold; 
and  still  his  eyes,  narrowing,  held  her  under  their  ex 
pressionless  inspection. 

"When  did  you  come?  Why?"  she  asked  in  an 
altered  voice. 

"  I  came  on  business.  Naturally,  being  here,  I  came 
to  see  you.  I  understand  you  are  dining  out?  " 

"  Yes,  we  are  dining  out." 

"  I'm  sorry  I  didn't  wire  you  because  we  might  have 
dined  together.  I  saw  Plank  this  afternoon.  He  did 
not  say  you  were  to  dine  with  him.  Shall  I  see  you  later 
in  the  evening,  Sylvia?  " 

"  I— it  will  be  too  late " 

"  Oh !     To-morrow  then.     What  train  do  you  take  ?  " 

Sylvia  did  not  answer;  he  picked  up  his  hat,  re 
peating  the  question  carelessly,  and  still  she  made  no 
reply. 

463 


THE    FIGHTING    CHANCE 

"  Shall  I  see  you  to-morrow?  "  he  asked,  swinging 
on  her  rather  suddenly. 

"  I  think — not.    I — there  will  be  no  time " 

He  bowed  quietly  to  Leila,  offering  his  hand.  "  Who 
did  you  say  was  to  dine  with  you — besides  Plank?  " 

Leila  stood  silent,  then,  withdrawing  her  fingers, 
walked  to  the  window. 

Quarrier,  his  hat  in  his  gloved  hands,  looked  from 
one  to  the  other,  his  inquiring  eyes  returning  and  fo 
cused  on  Sylvia. 

"  Who  are  you  dining  with?  "  he  asked  with  au 
thority. 

"  Mr.  Plank  and  Mr.  Siward." 

"  Mr.  Siward !  "  he  repeated  in  surprised  displeasure, 
as  though  he  had  not  already  divined  it. 

"  Yes.     A  man  I  like." 

"  A  man  I  dislike,"  he  rejoined  with  the  slightest 
emphasis. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  said  simply. 

"  So  am  I,  Sylvia.  And  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to 
make  him  an  excuse.  Any  excuse  will  do." 

"  Excuse?     What  do  you  mean,  Howard?" 

"  I  mean  that  I  do  not  care  to  have  you  seen  with 
Mr.  Siward.  Have  I  ever  demanded  very  much  of  you, 
Sylvia?  Very  well;  I  demand  this  of  you  now." 

And  still  she  stood  there,  her  eyes  wide,  her  colour 
gone,  repeating :  "  Excuse  ?  What  excuse  ?  What  do 
you  mean  by  '  excuse,'  Howard?  " 

"  I  have  told  you.  You  know  my  wishes.  If  he  has 
a  telephone  you  can  communicate  with  him " 

"  And  say  that  I — that  you  forbid  me " 

"  If  you  choose.  Yes;  say  that  I  object  to  him.  Is 
there  anything  extraordinary  in  a  man  objecting  to  his 
future  wife  dining  in  the  country  at  a  common  inn  with 

464 


THE   BARGAIN 


a  notorious  outcast  from  every  decent  club  and  circle 
in  New  York?" 

"  What !  "  she  whispered,  white  as  death.  "  What 
did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  repeat  what  everybody  except  you  seems 
to  be  aware  of?  Do  you  care  to  have  me  explain  to 
you  exactly  why  decent  people  have  ostracised  this  man 
with  whom  you  are  proposing  to  figure  in  a  public  re 
sort?  " 

He  turned  to  Leila,  who  stood  at  the  window,  her 
back  turned  toward  them :  "  Mrs.  Mortimer,  when  Mr. 
Plank  arrives,  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  explain  why 
Sylvia  is  unable  to  accompany  you." 

If  Leila  heard  she  neither  turned  nor  made  sign 
of  comprehension. 

"  We  will  dine  at  the  Santa  Regina,"  he  said  to  Syl 
via.  "  Agatha  is  there  and  I'll  find  somebody  at  the 
club  to " 

"  Why  bother  to  find  anybody  ?  "  said  Leila,  wheel 
ing  on  him,  exasperated.  "  Why  not  dine  there  with 
Agatha  alone  ?  It  will  not  be  the  first  time  I  fancy !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  said  fiercely,  under  his 
breath.  The  colour  had  left  his  face,  too,  and  in  his 
eyes  Leila  saw  for  the  first  time  an  expression  that  she 
had  never  before  surprised  in  any  eyes  except  her  hus 
band's.  It  was  the  expression  of  fright;  she  recognised 
it.  But  Sylvia  stared,  unenlightened,  at  an  altered  vis 
age  she  scarcely  knew  for  Quarrier's. 

"  What  do  I  mean  ?  "  repeated  Leila ;  "  I  mean  what 
I  say ;  and  if  you  don't  understand  it  you  can  find  the 
key  to  it,  I  fancy.  Nor  shall  I  answer  to  you  for  my 
guests.  I  invite  whom  I  choose.  Mr.  Siward  is  one, 
Mr.  Plank  is  another.  Sylvia,  if  you  care  to  come  I 
shall  be  delighted." 

465 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

"  I  do  care  to  come,"  said  Sylvia.  Her  heart  was 
beating  violently,  her  eyes  were  on  Quarrier. 

"  If  you  go,"  said  Quarrier,  showing  the  glimmering 
edge  of  teeth  under  his  beard,  "  you  will  answer  to  me 
for  it." 

"  I  will  answer  you  now,  Howard ;  I  am  going  with 
Mrs.  Mortimer.  What  have  you  to  say  ?  " 

"  I'll  say  it  to-morrow,"  he  replied,  contemplating 
her  in  a  dull,  impassive  manner  as  though  absorbed  in 
other  things. 

"  Say  what  there  is  to  be  said  now ! "  she  insisted, 
the  hot  colour  staining  her  cheeks  again.  "  Do  you 
desire  me  to  free  you  ?  Is  that  all  ?  I  will  if  you  wish." 

"  No.  And  I  shall  not  free  you,  Sylvia.  This — 
all  this  can  be  adjusted  in  time." 

"  As  you  please,"  she  said  slowly. 

"  In  time,"  he  repeated,  his  passionless  voice  now 
under  perfect  control.  He  turned  and  looked  at  Leila ; 
all  the  wickedness  of  his  anger  was  concentrated  in 
his  gaze.  Then  he  took  his  leave  of  them  as  for 
mally,  as  precisely  as  though  he  had  forgotten  the  whole 
scene ;  and  a  minute  later  the  big  Mercedes  ran  out  into 
a  half-circle,  backed,  wheeled,  and  rolled  away  through 
the  thickening  dusk,  the  glare  of  the  acetylenes  sweep 
ing  the  deserted  street. 

Into  the  twilight  sped  Quarrier,  head  bent,  but  his 
soft,  dark-lashed  eyes  of  a  woman  fixed  steadily  ahead. 
Every  energy,  every  thought  was  now  bent  to  this 
newest  phase  of  the  same  question  which  he  and  Fate 
were  finding  simpler  to  solve  every  minute.  Of  all  the 
luxuries  he  permitted  himself  openly  or  furtively,  one 
• — the  rarest  of  them  all — his  self-denial  had  practically 
eliminated  from  the  list :  the  luxury  of  punishing  where 
no  end  was  served  save  that  of  mere  personal  satisfac- 

466 


THE   BARGAIN 


tion.  The  temptation  of  this  luxury  now  presented  it 
self ;  and  the  means  of  gratification  were  so  simple,  so 
secret,  so  easy  to  command,  that  the  temptation  became 
almost  a  duty. 

Siward  he  had  not  turned  out  of  his  way  to  injure; 
Siward  had  been  in  the  way,  that  was  all,  and  his  ruin 
was  to  have  been  merely  an  agreeable  coincidence  with 
the  purposed  ruin  of  Amalgamated  Electric  before  In 
ter-County  absorbed  the  fragments.  But  here  was  a 
new  phase;  Mrs.  Mortimer,  whom  he  had  expected  to 
use,  and  if  necessary  sacrifice,  had  suddenly  turned  vi 
cious.  And  he  now  hated  her  as  coldly  as  he  hated 
Major  Belwether  for  betraying  suspicions  of  a  similar 
nature.  As  for  Plank,  fear  and  hatred  of  him  was 
becoming  hatred  and  contempt.  He  had  the  means  of 
checking  Plank  if  Mortimer  did  not  drop  dead  before 
midnight.  There  remained  Sylvia,  whom  he  had  se 
lected  as  the  fittest  object  attainable  to  transmit  his 
name.  Long  ago,  whatever  of  liking,  of  affection,  of 
passion  he  had  ever  entertained  for  her  had  quieted  to 
indifference  and  the  unemotional  contemplation  of  a  fu 
ture  methodically  arranged  for.  Now  of  a  sudden, 
this  young  girl  he  had  bought — he  knowing  what  she 
sold  and  what  he  was  paying  for — had  become  exposed 
to  the  infection  of  a  suspicion  concerning  himself  and 
another  woman ;  a  woman  unmarried,  and  of  his  own 
caste,  and  numbered  among  her  own  friends. 

And  he  knew  enough  of  Sylvia  to  know  that  if  any 
body  could  once  arouse  her  suspicion  nothing  on  earth 
could  induce  her  to  look  into  his  face  again.  Suppose 
Leila  should  do  so  this  evening? 

Certainly  Quarrier  had  several  matters  to  ponder 
over  and  provide  for;  and  first  and  foremost  of  all  to 
provide  for  his  own  security  and  the  vital  necessity  of 

467 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

preserving  his  name  and  his  character  untainted.  In 
this  he  had  to  deal  with  that  miserable  judge  who  had 
betrayed  him;  with  Mortimer,  who  had  once  black 
mailed  him  and  who  now  was  temporarily  in  his  service ; 
with  Mrs.  Mortimer,  who — God  knew  how,  when,  or 
where — had  become  suspicious  of  Agatha  and  himself; 
with  Major  Belwether,  who  had  deserted  him  before  he 
could  sacrifice  the  major,  and  whom  he  now  hated  and 
feared  for  having  stumbled  over  suspicions  similar  to 
Mrs.  Mortimer's.  He  had  to  deal  with  Sylvia  herself, 
and  with  Siward — reckon  with  Siward's  knowledge  of 
matters  which  it  were  best  that  Sylvia  should  not  know. 

But  first  of  all,  and  most  important  of  all,  he  had 
to  deal  with  Beverly  Plank.  And  he  was  going  to  do 
it  in  a  manner  that  Plank  could  not  have  foreseen;  he 
was  going  to  stop  Plank  where  he  stood,  and  to  do 
this  he  was  deliberately  using  his  knowledge  of  the  man 
and  paying  Plank  the  compliment  of  counting  on  his 
sense  of  honour  to  defeat  him. 

For  he  had  suddenly  found  the  opportunity  to  de 
fend  himself;  he  had  discovered  the  joint  in  Plank's 
old-fashioned  armour — the  armour  of  the  old  paladins 
— who  placed  a  woman's  honour  before  all  else  in  the 
world.  Now,  through  his  creature,  Mortimer,  he  could 
menace  Plank  with  a  threat  to  involve  him  and  Leila 
in  a  vile  publicity ;  now  he  was  in  a  position  to  demand 
a  hearing  and  a  compromise  through  his  new  ambassa 
dor,  Mortimer,  knowing  that  he  could  at  last  halt 
Plank  by  threatening  Leila  with  this  shameful  danger. 
Plank  must  sign  the  truce  or  face  with  Leila  an  action 
for  damages  and  divorce. 

First  of  all  he  went  to  the  Lenox  Club  and  dressed. 
Then  he  dined  sparingly  and  alone.  The  Mercedes  was 
waiting  when  he  came  out  ready  to  run  down  to  the 

468 


THE   BARGAIN 


great  Hotel  Corona,  whither  the  Japanese  steward  had 
conducted  Mortimer.  Mortimer  had  dined  heavily,  but 
his  disorganised  physical  condition  was  such  that  it  had 
scarcely  affected  him  at  all. 

Again  Quarrier  went  over  patiently  and  carefully 
the  very  simple  part  he  had  reserved  for  Mortimer  that 
evening,  explaining  exactly  what  to  say  to  Leila  and 
what  to  say  to  Plank  in  case  of  insolent  interruption. 
Then  he  told  Mortimer  to  be  ready  at  nine  o'clock, 
turned  on  his  heel  with  a  curt  word  to  the  Japanese, 
descended  to  the  street,  entered  his  motor-car  again,  and 
sped  away  to  the  Hotel  Santa  Regina. 

Miss  Caithness  was  at  home,  came  the  message  in 
exchange  for  his  cards  for  Agatha  and  Mrs.  Venden- 
ning.  He  entered  the  gilded  elevator,  stepped  out  on 
the  sixth  floor  into  a  tiny,  rococo,  public  reception- 
room.  Nobody  was  there  besides  himself;  Agatha's 
maid  came  presently,  and  he  turned  and  followed  her 
into  the  large  and  very  handsome  parlour  belonging 
to  the  suite  which  Agatha  was  occupying  with  Mrs. 
Vendenning  for  the  few  days  that  they  were  to  stop 
in  town. 

"  Hello,"  she  said  serenely,  sauntering  in,  her  long, 
pale  hands  bracketed  on  her  narrow  hips,  her  lips  dis 
closing  her  teeth  in  a  smile  so  like  that  nervous  muscular 
recession  which  passed  for  a  smile  on  Quarrier's  visage 
that  for  one  moment  he  recognised  it  and  thought  she 
was  mocking  him.  But  she  strolled  up  to  him,  meeting 
his  eye  calmly,  and  lifted  her  slim  neck,  lips  passive 
under  his  impetuous  kiss. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Vendenning  out?  "  he  asked,  laying  his 
hands  on  the  bare  shoulders  of  the  tall,  pallid  girl — tall 
as  he,  and  as  pallid. 

"  No,  Mrs.  Ven.  is  in,  Howard." 
469 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  Now?  You  mean  she  is  coming  in  to  inter 
rupt " 

u  Oh  no ;  she  isn't  fond  of  you,  Howard." 

"  You  said — "  he  began  almost  angrily,  but  she  laid 
her  fingers  across  his  lips. 

"  I  said  a  very  foolish  thing,  Howard.  I  said  that 
I'd  manage  to  dispense  with  Mrs.  Ven.  this  evening." 

"  You  mean  that  you  couldn't  manage  it  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all ;  I  could  easily  have  managed  it.  But 
—I  didn't  care  to." 

She  looked  at  him  calmly  at  close  range  as  he  held 
her  embraced,  lifted  her  arms  and,  with  slender,  white 
fingers  patted  her  hair  into  place  where  his  arm  around 
her  head  had  disarranged  it,  watching  him  all  the  while 
out  of  her  pale,  haunted  eyes. 

"  You  promised  me,"  he  said,  "  that  you " 

"  Oh  Howard!     Do  men  still  believe  in  promises?  " 

Quarrier's  face  had  colour  enough  now ;  his  voice, 
too,  had  lost  its  passionless,  monotonous  precision. 
Whatever  was  in  the  man  of  emotion  was  astir;  his  im 
patient  voice,  his  lack  of  poise,  the  almost  human  lack 
of  caution  in  his  speech  betrayed  him  in  a  new  and  in 
teresting  light. 

"  Look  here,  Agatha,  how  long  is  this  going  to  last  ? 
Are  you  trying  to  make  a  fool  of  me?  What  is  the 
matter?  Is  there  anything  wrong?  " 

"Wrong?  Oh  dear  no!  How  could  there  be  any 
thing  wrong  between  you  and  me " 

"  Agatha,  what  is  the  matter !  Look  here ;  let's  set 
tle  this  thing  now  and  settle  it  one  way  or  the  other! 
I  won't  stand  it;  I— I  can't!" 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  releasing  herself  from  his 
tightening  arms  and  stepping  back  with  another  glance 
at  the  mirror  and  another  light  touch  of  her  finger-tips 

470 


THE   BARGAIN 


on  her  burnished  hair.  "  Very  well,"  she  repeated,  gaz 
ing  again  into  the  mirror ;  "  what  am  I  to  understand, 
Howard?  " 

"  You  know  what  to  understand,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice ;  "  you  know  what  we  both  understood  when — 
when " 

"When  what?" 

"  When  I — when  you " 

"  Oh  what,  Howard  ?  "  she  prompted  indolently ;  and 
he  answered  in  brutal  exasperation,  and  for  the  first 
time  so  plainly  that  a  hint  of  rose  tinted  her  strange, 
pale  beauty  and  between  her  lips  the  breath  came  less 
regularly  as  she  stood  there  looking  at  the  dull,  silvery 
rug  under  her  feet. 

"  Did  you  ever  misunderstand  me?  "  he  demanded 
hotly.  "  Did  I  give  you  any  chance  to?  Were  you 
ignorant  of  what  that  meant,"  with  a  gesture  toward  the 
splendid  crescent  of  flashing  gems,  scintillating  where 
the  low,  lace  bodice  met  the  silky  lustre  of  her  skin. 
"  Did  you  misinterpret  the  collar?  Or  the  sudden 
change  of  fortune  in  your  own  family's  concerns?  An 
swer  me,  Agatha,  once  for  all.  But  you  need  not  answer 
after  all :  /  know  you  have  never  misunderstood  me !  " 

"  I  misunderstood  nothing,"  she  said ;  "  you  are 
quite  right." 

"  Then  what  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

"  Do?  "  she  asked  in  slow  surprise.  "  What  am  I 
to  do,  Howard?" 

"  You  have  said  that  you  loved  me." 

"  I  said  the  truth,  I  think." 

"  Then " 

"Well?" 

"  How  long   are  you  going  to  keep  me  at   arm's 
length  ?  "  he  asked  violently. 
31  471 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  That  lies  with  you,"  she  said,  smiling.  She  looked 
at  him  for  a  moment,  then,  resting  her  hands  on  her 
hips,  she  began  to  pace  the  floor,  to  and  fro,  to  and 
fro,  and  at  every  turn  she  raised  her  head  to  look  at 
him.  All  the  strange  grace  of  her  became  insolent  prov 
ocation — her  pale  eyes,  clear,  limpid,  harbouring  no  de 
lusions,  haunted  with  the  mockery  of  wisdom,  challenged 
and  checked  him.  "  Howard,"  she  said,  "  why  should 
I  be  the  fool  you  want  me  to  be  because  I  love  you? 
Why  should  I  be  even  if  I  wished  to  be?  You  desire 
an  understanding?  Voila\  You  have  it.  I  love  you; 
I  never  misunderstood  you  from  the  first ;  I  could  not 
afford  to.  You  know  what  I  am;  you  know  what  you 
arouse  in  me  ?  " 

Slim,  pale,  depraved  in  all  but  body  she  stood,  eye 
ing  him  a  moment,  the  very  incarnation  of  vicious  per 
versity. 

"  You  know  what  you  arouse  in  me,"  she  repeated. 
"  But  don't  count  on  it !  " 

"  You  have  encouraged — permitted  me  to  count — " 
His  anger  choked  him — or  was  it  the  haunting  wisdom 
of  her  eyes  that  committed  him  to  silence. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  musingly,  "  what  it  is  in 
you  that  I  am  so  mad  about — whether  it  is  your  brutal 
ity,  or  the  utter  corruption  of  you  that  holds  me,  or 
your  wicked  eyes  of  a  woman,  or  the  fascination  of  the 
mask  you  turn  on  the  world,  and  the  secret  visage,  naked 
in  its  vice,  that  you  reserve  for  me.  But  I  love  you — 
in  my  own  fashion.  Count  on  that,  Howard;  for  that 
is  all  you  can  surely  count  on.  And  now,  at  last,  you 
know." 

As  he  stood  there,  it  came  to  him  slowly  that,  deep 
within  him  he  had  always  known  this ;  that  he  had  never 
really  counted  on  anything  else  though  he  had  throt- 

472 


THE   BARGAIN 


tied  his  doubts  by  covering  her  throat  with  diamonds. 
Her  strangeness,  her  pallor,  her  acquiescence,  the  deli 
cate  hint  of  depravity  in  her,  the  subtle  response  to  all 
that  was  worst  in  him  had  attracted  him,  only  to  learn, 
little  by  little,  that  the  taint  of  corruption  was  only  a 
taint  infecting  others,  not  her;  that  the  promise  of  evil 
was  only  a  promise;  that  he  had  to  deal  with  a  young 
body  but  an  old  intelligence,  and  a  mind  so  old  that 
at  moments  her  faded  gaze  almost  appalled  him  with 
its  indolent  clairvoyance. 

Long  since  he  knew,  too,  that  in  all  the  world  he 
could  never  again  find  such  a  mate  for  him.  This  had, 
unadmitted  even  to  himself,  always  remained  a  hidden 
secret  within  this  secret  man — an  unacknowledged,  un- 
drawn-on  reserve  in  case  of  the  failure  which  he,  even 
in  sanguine  moods,  knew  in  his  inmost  corrupted  soul 
that  his  quest  was  doomed  to. 

And  now  he  had  no  more  need  of  secrets  from  him 
self ;  now,  turning  his  gaze  inward,  he  looked  upon  all 
with  which  he  had  chosen  to  deceive  himself.  And  there 
was  nothing  left  for  self-deception. 

"  If  I  marry  you !  "  he  said  calmly,  "  at  least  I 
know  what  I  am  getting." 

"  I  will  marry  you,  Howard.  I've  got  to  marry 
somebody  pretty  soon.  You  or  Captain  Voucher." 

For  an  instant  a  vicious  light  flashed  in  his  nar 
rowing  eyes.  She  saw  it  and  shook  her  head  with  weary 
cynicism : 

"  No,  not  that.  It  could  not  attract  me  even  with 
you.  It  is  really  vulgar — that  arrangement.  Noblesse 
oblige,  mon  ami.  There  is  a  depravity  in  marrying  you 
that  makes  all  lesser  vices  stale  as  virtues." 

He  said  nothing ;  she  looked  at  him,  lazily  amused ; 
then,  inattentive,  turned  and  paced  the  floor  again. 

473 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  Shall  I  see  you  to-morrow?  "  he  demanded. 

"  If  you  wish.  Captain  Voucher  came  down  on  the 
same  train  with  me.  I'll  set  him  adrift  if  you  like." 

"  Is  he  preparing  for  a  declaration?  "  sneered  Quar- 
rier. 

"  I  think  so,"  she  said  simply. 

"  Well  if  he  comes  to-night  after  I'm  gone,  you  wait 
a  final  word  from  me.  Do  you  understand?  "  he  re 
peated  with  repressed  violence. 

"  No,  Howard.  Are  you  going  to  propose  to  me 
to-morrow?  " 

"  You'll  know  to-morrow,"  he  retorted  angrily.  "  I 
tell  you  to  wait.  I've  a  right  to  that  much  considera 
tion  anyway." 

"  Very  well,  Howard,"  she  said,  recognising  in  him 
the  cowardice  which  she  had  always  suspected  to  be 
there. 

She  bade  him  good  night;  he  touched  her  hand  but 
made  no  offer  to  kiss  her.  She  laughed  a  little  to  her 
self,  watching  him  striding  toward  the  elevator,  then, 
closing  the  door,  she  stood  still  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
staring  at  her  own  reflection,  full  length,  in  the  gilded 
pier-glass,  her  lips  edged  with  a  sneer  so  like  Quarrier's 
that,  the  next  moment  she  laughed  aloud,  imitating 
Quarrier's  rare  laugh  from  sheer  perversity. 

"  I  think,"  she  said  to  her  reflected  figure  in  the 
glass,  "  I  think  that  you  are  either  mentally  ill  or  inher 
ently  a  kind  of  devil.  And  I  don't  much  care  which." 

And  she  turned  leisurely,  her  slim  hands  balanced 
lightly  on  her  narrow  hips,  and  strolled  into  the  second 
dressing-room,  where  Mrs.  Vendenning  sat  sullenly  in 
dulging  in  that  particular  species  of  solitaire  known  as 
"  The  Idiot's  Delight." 

"Well?"  inquired  Mrs.  Vendenning,  looking  up  at 
474 


THE   BARGAIN 


the  tall,  pale  girl  she  was  chaperoning  so  carefully  during 
their  sojourn  in  town. 

"  Oh,  you  know  the  rhyme  to  that,"  yawned  Agatha ; 
"  let's  ring  up  somebody.  I'm  bored  stiff." 

"  What  did  Howard  Quarrier  want  ?  " 

"  He  knows,  I  think,  but  he  hasn't  yet  informed  me." 

"  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,  Agatha,"  said  Mrs.  Ven- 
denning,  gathering  up  the  packs  for  a  new  shuffle: 
"  Grace  Ferrall  doesn't  fancy  Howard's  attention  to  you 
and  she's  beginning  to  say  so.  When  you  go  back  to 
Shotover  you'd  better  let  him  alone." 

"  I'm  not  going  back  to  Shotover,"  said  Agatha. 

"  What?  " 

"  No;  I  don't  think  so.  However,  I'll  let  you  know 
to-morrow.  It  all  depends — but  I  don't  expect  to."  She 
turned  as  her  maid  tapped  on  the  door.  "  Oh,  Captain 
Voucher.  Are  you  at  home  to  him?  "  flipping  the  paste 
board  onto  the  table  among  the  scattered  cards. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Vendenning  aggressively,  "  unless 
you  expect  him  to  flop  down  on  his  knees  to-night.  Do 
you?" 

"  I  don't — to-night.  Perhaps  to-morrow.  I  don't 
know;  I  can't  tell  yet."  And  to  her  maid  she  nodded 
that  they  were  at  home  to  Captain  Voucher. 

Quarrier  had  met  him,  too,  just  as  he  was  leaving 
the  hotel  lobby.  They  exchanged  the  careful  salutations 
of  men  who  had  no  use  for  one  another.  On  the  English 
man's  clean-cut  face  a  deeper  hue  settled  as  he  passed; 
on  Quarrier's,  not  a  trace  of  emotion;  but  when  he  en 
tered  his  motor  he  sat  bolt  upright,  stiff-backed  and 
stiff-necked,  his  long  gray-gloved  fingers  moving  rest 
lessly  over  his  pointed  beard. 

The  night  was  magnificent ;  myriads  of  summer  stars 
475 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

spangled  the  heavens.  Even  in  the  reeking  city  itself 
a  slight  freshness  grew  in  the  air,  although  there  was 
no  wind  to  stir  the  parched  leaves  of  the  park  trees, 
among  which  fire-flies  floated — their  intermittent  phos 
phorescence  breaking  out  with  a  silvery,  star-like  bril 
liancy. 

Plank,  driving  his  big  motor  northward  through  the 
night,  Leila  Mortimer  beside  him,  twice  mistook  the  low 
glimmer  of  a  fire-fly  for  the  distant  lamp  of  a  motor, 
which  amused  Leila,  and  her  clear,  young  laughter 
floated  back  to  the  ears  of  Sylvia  and  Siward,  curled  up 
in  their  corners  of  the  huge  tonneau.  But  they  were  too 
profoundly  occupied  with  each  other  to  heed  the  sudden 
care-free  laughter  of  the  young  matron,  though  in 
these  days  her  laughter  was  infrequent  enough  to  set 
the  more  merciless  tongues  wagging  when  it  did  sound. 

Plank  had  never  seen  fit  to  speak  to  her  of  her  hus 
band's  scarcely  veiled  menace  that  day  he  had  encoun 
tered  him  in  the  rotunda  of  the  Algonquin  Trust  Com 
pany.  His  first  thought  was  to  do  so — to  talk  it  over 
with  her,  consider  the  threat  and  the  possibility  of  its 
seriousness,  and  then  come  to  some  logical  and  definite 
decision  as  to  what  their  future  relations  should  be. 
Again  and  again  he  had  been  on  the  point  of  doing  this 
when  alone  with  Leila — uncomfortable,  even  apprehen 
sive,  because  of  their  frank  intimacy ;  but  he  had  never 
had  the  opportunity  to  do  so  without  deliberately  drag 
ging  in  the  subject  by  the  ears  in  all  its  ugliness  and 
implied  reproach  for  her  imprudence,  and  seeing  that 
dreadful,  vacant  change  in  Leila's  face,  which  the  mere 
mention  of  her  husband's  name  was  sure  to  bring,  turn 
into  horror  unspeakable. 

A  man  not  prone  to  fear  his  fellows,  he  now  feared 
Mortimer,  but  that  fear  struck  him  only  through  Leila — 

476 


THE   BARGAIN 


or  had  so  reached  him  until  the  days  of  his  closing 
struggle  with  Quarrier.  Whether  the  long  strain  had 
unnerved  him,  whether  minutely  providing  against  every 
possible  danger  he  had  been  over-scrupulous,  over 
anxious,  morbidly  exact — or  whether  a  foresight  almost 
abnormal  had  evoked  a  sinister  possibility — he  did  not 
know ;  but  that  threat  of  Mortimer's  to  involve  Plank 
with  Leila  in  one  common  ruin,  that  boast  that  he  was 
able  to  do  so  could  not  be  ignored  as  a  possible  weapon 
if  Quarrier  should  by  any  chance  learn  of  it. 

In  all  his  life  he  had  taken  Leila  into  his  arms  but 
once;  had  kissed  her  but  once — but  that  once  had  been 
enough  to  arm  Mortimer  with  danger  from  head  to 
foot.  Some  prying  servant  had  either  listened  or  seen 
— perhaps  a  glimmer  of  a  mirror  had  betrayed  them.  At 
all  events,  whoever  had  seen  or  heard  had  informed  Mor 
timer,  and  now  the  man  was  equipped ;  the  one  and  only 
man  in  all  the  world  who  could  with  truth  accuse  Plank ; 
the  only  man  of  whom  he  stood  in  honest  fear. 

And  it  was  characteristic  of  Plank  that  never  for 
one  moment  had  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  sheer  fault 
of  it  all  lay  with  Leila ;  that  it  was  her  imprudence  alone 
that  now  threatened  herself  and  the  man  she  loved — 
that  threatened  his  very  success  in  life  as  long  as  Mor 
timer  should  live. 

All  this,  Plank,  in  his  thorough,  painstaking  review 
of  the  subject,  had  taken  into  account;  and  he  could 
not  see  how  it  could  possibly  bear  upon  the  matters  now 
finally  to  be  adjusted  between  Quarrier  and  himself,  be 
cause  Quarrier  was  in  New  York  and  Mortimer  in 
Saratoga,  and  unless  the  latter  had  already  sold  his  in 
formation  the  former  could  not  strike  at  him  through 
knowledge  of  it. 

And  yet  a  curious  reluctancy,  a  hesitation  inex- 
477 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

plicable — unless  overwork  explained  it — had  come  over 
him  when  Siward  had  proposed  their  dining  together 
on  the  very  eve  of  his  completed  victory  over  Quarrier. 

It  seemed  absurd,  and  Plank  was  too  stolid  to  enter 
tain  superstitions,  but  he  could  not,  even  with  Leila 
laughing  there  beside  him,  shake  off  the  dull  instinct  that 
all  was  not  well — that  Quarrier' s  attitude  was  still  the 
attitude  of  a  dangerous  man ;  that  he,  Plank,  should  have 
had  this  evening  in  his  room  alone  to  study  out  the 
matters  he  had  so  patiently  plodded  through  in  the  long 
hours  while  Siward  slept. 

Yet  not  for  one  instant  did  he  dream  of  shifting  the 
responsibility  —  if  responsibility  entailed  blame  —  on 
Siward,  who,  against  Plank's  judgment  and  desire,  had 
on  the  very  eve  of  consummation  drawn  him  away  from 
that  sleepless  vigilance  which  must  for  ever  be  the  price 
of  a  business  man's  safety. 

Leila,  gay  and  excited  as  a  schoolgirl,  chattered  on 
ceaselessly  to  Plank ;  all  the  silence,  all  the  secrecy  of  the 
arid  years  turning  to  laughter  on  her  red  lips,  pouring 
out,  in  broken  phrases  of  delight,  words  strung  together 
for  the  sheer  pleasure  of  speech  and  the  happiness  of 
her  lot  to  be  with  him  unrestrained. 

He  remembered  once  listening  to  the  song  of  a  wild 
bird  on  the  edge  of  a  clearing  at  night,  and  how,  stand 
ing  entranced,  the  low,  distant  jar  of  thunder  sounded 
at  moments,  scarcely  audible — like  his  heart  now,  at 
intervals,  dully  persistent  amid  the  gaiety  of  her  voice. 

"  And  would  you  believe  it,  Beverly,"  she  said,  "  I 
formed  the  habit  at  Shotover  of  walking  across  the 
boundary  and  strolling  into  your  greenhouses  and  de 
liberately  helping  myself.  And  every  time  I  did  it  I 
was  certain  one  of  your  men  would  march  me  out !  " 

He  laughed,  but  did  not  tell  her  that  his  men  had 
478 


THE   BARGAIN 


reported  the  first  episode  and  that  he  had  instructed  them 
that  Mrs.  Mortimer  and  her  friends  were  to  do  exactly 
as  they  pleased  at  the  Fells.  However  she  knew  it, 
because  a  garrulous  gardener,  proud  of  his  service  with 
Plank,  had  informed  her. 

"  Beverly,"  she  said,  "  you  are  a  dear.  If  people 
only  knew  what  I  know !  " 

He  began  to  turn  red ;  she  could  see  it  even  in 
the  flickering,  lamp-shot  darkness.  And  she  teased  him 
for  a  while,  very  gently,  even  tenderly ;  and  their  voices 
grew  lower  in  a  half -serious  badinage  that  ended  with  a 
quiet,  indrawn  breath,  a  sigh,  and  silence. 

And  now  the  river  swept  into  view,  a  darkly  luminous 
sheet  set  with  reflected  stars.  Mirrored  lights  gleamed 
in  it;  sudden  bright,  yellow  flashes  zigzagged  into  its 
sombre  depths ;  the  foliage  edged  it  with  a  deeper  gloom 
over  which,  on  the  heights,  twinkled  the  multicoloured 
lights  of  Riverside  Inn. 

Up  the  broad,  gentle  grade  they  sped,  curving  in 
and  out  among  the  clumps  of  trees  and  shrubbery,  then 
on  a  level,  sweeping  in  a  great  circle  up  to  the  steps 
of  the  inn. 

Now  all  about  them  from  the  brilliantly  lighted  ve 
randas  the  gay  tumult  broke  out  like  an  uproarious  wel 
come  after  the  swift  silence  of  their  journey;  the  stir  of 
jolly  p4ople  keen  for  pleasure;  the  clatter  of  crockery; 
the  coming  and  going  of  waiters,  of  guests,  of  hansoms, 
coupes,  victorias,  and  scores  of  motor-cars  wheeling  and 
turning  through  the  blinding  glare  of  their  own  head 
lights. 

Somewhere  a  gipsy  orchestra,  full  of  fitful  crescen 
does  and  throbbing  suspensions  of  caprice,  furnished 
resonant  accompaniment  to  the  joyous  clamour;  the 
scent  of  fountain  spray  and  flowers  was  in  the  air. 

479 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

"  I  didn't  know  you  had  telephoned  for  a  table," 
said  Siward,  as  a  head- waiter  came  up  smiling  and 
bowing  to  Plank.  "  I  confess,  in  the  new  excitement  of 
things,  I  clean  forgot  it!  What  a  man  you  are  to 
think  of  other  people !  " 

Plank  reddened  again,  muttering  something  evasive, 
and  went  forward  with  Leila. 

Sylvia,  moving  leisurely  beside  Siward  who  was 
Walking  slowly  but  confidently  without  crutches,  whis 
pered  to  him :  "  I  never  really  liked  Mr.  Plank  before  I 
understood  his  attitude  toward  you." 

"  He  is  a  man,  every  inch,"  said  Siward  simply. 

"  I  think  that  generally  includes  what  men  of  your 
sort  demand,  doesn't  it?  "  she  asked. 

"  Men  of  my  sort  sometimes  demand  in  others  what 
they  themselves  are  lacking  in,"  said  Siward,  laughing. 
"Sylvia,  look  at  this  jolly  crowd!  Look  at  all  those 
tables !  It  seems  an  age  since  I  have  done  anything  of 
this  sort.  I  feel  like  a  boy  of  eighteen — the  same  funny, 
quickening  fascination  in  me  toward  everything  gay  and 
bright  and  alive !  "  He  looked  around  at  her,  laugh 
ingly.  "  As  for  you,"  he  said,  "  you  look  about  six 
teen.  You  certainly  are  the  most  beautiful  thing  this 
beautiful  world  ever  saw !  " 

"  Schoolboy  courtship !  "  she  mocked  him,  lingering 
as  he  made  his  slow  way  through  the  crowded  place.  The 
tint  of  excitement  was  in  her  eyes  and  cheeks ;  the  echo 
of  it  in  her  low,  happy  voice.  "  Where  on  earth  is  Mr. 
Plank?  Oh,  I  see  them!  They  have  a  table  by  the 
balcony  rail,  in  the  corner;  and  it  seems  to  be  rather 
secluded,  Stephen,  so  I  shall,  of  course,  expect  you  to 
say  nothing  further  about  beauty  of  any  species.  .  .  . 
Are  you  a  trifle  tired?  No?  .  .  .  Well,  you  need  not 
be  indignant.  7  don't  care  whether  you  tumble.  Indeed, 

480 


THE   BARGAIN 


I  don't  believe  there  is  really  anything  the  matter  with 
you — you  are  walking  with  the  same  old  careless  saunter. 
Mr.  Plank,"  as  they  arrived  and  seated  themselves,  "  Mr. 
Siward  has  just  admitted  that  he  uses  crutches  only  be 
cause  they  are  ornamental.  Leila,  isn't  this  air  de 
licious?  All  sorts  of  people,  too,  aren't  there,  Mr. 
Plank?  Such  curious-looking  women,  some  of  them — 
quite  pretty,  too,  in  a  certain  way.  Are  you  hungry, 
St— Mr.  Siward?  " 

"  Are  you,  St — Mr.  Siward? "  mimicked  Leila 
promptly. 

"  I  am,"  said  Siward,  laughing  at  Sylvia's  significant 
colour  and  noting  Plank's  direct  gaze  as  the  waiter  filled 
Leila's  slender-stemmed  glass.  And  "  nothing  but 
Apollinaris,"  he  said  coolly,  as  the  waiter  approached 
him ;  but  though  his  voice  was  easy  enough,  a  dull  patch 
of  colour  came  out  under  the  cheek-bones. 

"  That  is  all  I  care  for,  either,"  said  Sylvia  with 
elaborate  carelessness. 

Plank  and  Leila  immediately  began  to  make  conver 
sation.  Siward,  his  eyes  bent  on  the  glass  of  mineral 
water  at  his  elbow,  looked  up  in  silence  at  Sylvia  ques- 
tioningly. 

There  was  something  in  her  face  he  did  not  quite 
comprehend.  She  made  as  though  to  speak,  looked  at 
him,  hesitated,  her  lovely  face  eloquent  under  the  im 
pulse.  Then,  leaning  toward  him,  she  said: 

"  *  And  thy  ways  shall  be  my  ways.' ' 

"  Sylvia,  you  must  not  deny  yourself,  just  because 
I " 

"  Let  me.  It  is  the  happiest  thing  I  have  ever  done 
for  myself." 

"  But  I  don't  wish  it." 

"  Ah,  but  I  do,"  she  said,  the  low  excited  laughter 
481 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

scarcely  fluttering  her  lips.  "  Listen :  I  never  before,  in 
all  my  life,  gave  up  anything  for  your  sake,  only  this 
one  little  pitiful  thing." 

"  I  won't  let  you !  "  he  breathed ;  "  it  is  nonsense 
to " 

"  You  must  let  me !  Am  I  to  be  on  friendly 
terms  with — with  your  mortal  enemy?  "  She  was  still 
smiling,  but  now  her  sensitive  mouth  quivered  sud 
denly. 

He  sat  silent,  considering  her,  his  restless  fingers 
playing  with  his  glass  in  which  the  harmless  bubbles 
were  breaking. 

"  I  drink  to  your  health,  Stephen,"  she  said  under 
her  breath.  "  I  drink  to  your  happiness,  too ;  and— and 
to  your  fortune,  and  to  all  that  you  desire  from  fortune." 
And  she  raised  her  glass  in  the  star-light,  looking  over 
it  into  his  eyes. 

"  All  I  desire  from  fortune?"  he  repeated  signifi 
cantly. 

"  All— almost  all " 

"  No,  all,"  he  demanded. 

But  she  only  raised  the  glass  to  her  lips,  still  looking 
at  him  as  she  drank. 

They  became  unreasonably  gay  almost  immediatel}", 
though  the  beverage  scarcely  accounted  for  the  deli 
cate  intoxication  that  seemed  to  creep  into  their  veins. 
Yet  it  was  sufficient  for  Siward  to  say  an  amusing 
thing  wittily,  for  Sylvia  to  return  his  lead  with  all  the 
delightful,  unconscious  brilliancy  that  he  seemed  to 
inspire  in  her — as  though  awaking  into  real  life  once 
more.  All  that  had  slumbered  in  her  through  the  winter 
and  spring,  and  the  long,  arid  summer  now  crumbling 
to  the  edge  of  autumn,  broke  out  into  a  delicate  riot  of 
exquisite  florescence ;  the  very  sounds  of  her  voice,  every 

482 


THE   BARGAIN 


intonation,  every  accent,  every  pause,  were  charming 
surprises;  her  laughter  was  a  miracle,  her  beauty  a 
revelation. 

Leila,  aware  of  it,  exchanged  glance  after  glance 
with  Plank.  Siward,  alternately  the  leader  in  it  all,  then 
the  enchanted  listener,  bewitched,  enthralled,  felt  care 
slipping  from  his  shoulders  like  a  mantle,  and  sadness 
exhaling  from  a  heart  that  was  beating  strongly,  steadily, 
fearlessly — as  a  heart  should  beat  in  the  breast  of  him 
who  has  taken  at  last  his  fighting  chance.  He  took 
it  now,  under  her  eyes,  for  honour*  for  manhood,  and 
for  the  ideal  which  had  made  manhood  no  longer  an 
empty  term  muttered  in  desperation  by  a  sick  body,  and 
a  mind  too  sick  to  control  it. 

Yes,  at  last  the  lifelong  battle  was  on.  He  knew 
it.  He  knew,  too,  whatever  his  fate  with  her  or  without 
her,  he  must  always  go  on  with  the  battle  for  the  safe 
guarding  of  that  manhood  the  consciousness  of  which 
she  had  aroused. 

All  he  knew  was  that,  through  the  medium  of  his 
love  for  her,  whatever  in  him  of  the  spiritual  remained, 
or  had  been  generated,  was  now  awake,  alive,  strong, 
vital,  indestructible — an  impalpable  current  flowing 
from  a  sane  intelligence,  through  medium  of  her,  back 
to  the  eternal  truth,  returning  always,  always,  to  the 
deathless  source  from  whence  it  came. 

Lingering  over  the  fruit,  the  champagne  breaking  in 
the  glasses  standing  on  the  table  between  them,  rim  to 
rim,  Leila  and  Plank  had  fallen  into  a  low,  desultory, 
yet  guarded  exchange  of  words  and  silences. 

Sylvia  sprang  up  and  pushed  her  chair  into  the 
farther  corner  against  the  balcony  rail,  where  no  light 
fell  except  the  radiance  of  the  stars.  Here  Siward 
joined  her,  dragging  his  chair  around  so  that  it  faced 

483 


THE   FIGHTING    CHANCE 

her  as  she  leaned  back,  tilted  against  a  shadowy  column. 

"  Is  this  Bohemianism,  Stephen  ?  If  it  is,  I  rather 
like  it.  Don't  you?  You  are  going  to  smoke  now, 
aren't  you?  Ah,  that  is  delightful!"  daintily  sniffing 
the  aroma  from  his  cigarette.  "  It  always  reminds  me 
of  you — there  on  the  cliffs,  that  first  day.  Do  you  re 
member? — the  smoke  from  your  cigarette  whirling  up 
in  my  face?  .  .  .  You  say  you  remember.  .  .  .  Oh,  of 
course  there's  nothing  else  to  say  when  a  girl  asks  you 
.  .  .  is  there?  Oh,  I  won't  argue  with  you,  if  you 
insist  that  you  do  remember.  You  will  not  be  like  any 
other  man  if  you  do,  that's  all.  .  .  .  The  little  things 
that  women  remember!  .  .  .  And  believe  that  men  re 
member  !  It  is  pitiful  in  a  way.  There !  I  am  not  going 
to  spill  over,  and  I  don't  care  a  copper  penny  whether 
you  really  da  remember  or  not!  .  .  .  Yes,  I  do  care! 
.  .  .  Oh,  all  women  care.  It  is  their  first  disappoint 
ment  to  learn  how  much  a  man  can  forget  and  still  re 
member  to  care  for  them — a  little !  .  .  .  Stephen,  I  said 
a  little;  and  that  is  all  that  you  are  permitted  to  care 
for  me;  isn't  it?  .  .  .  Please,  don't.  You  are  delib 
erately  beginning  to  say  things!  .  .  .  Stephen,  you 
silly !  you  are  making  love  to  me !  " 

In  the  darkness  his  hand  encountered  hers  on  the 
wooden  rail,  and  the  tremor  of  the  contact  silenced  her. 
She  freed  one  finger,  then  let  it  rest  with  its  slender 
fellow-prisoners.  There  was  no  use  in  trying  to  speak 
just  then — utterly  useless  her  voice  in  the  soft,  rounded 
throat  imprisoned  by  the  swelling  pulses  that  tightened 
and  hammered  and  tightened. 

Years  seemed  to  fall  away  from  her,  slipping  back, 
back  into  girlhood,  into  childhood,  drawing  not  her  alone 
on  the  gliding  tide,  but  carrying  him  with  her.  An 
exquisite  languor  held  her.  Through  it  vague  hints  of 

484 


THE   BARGAIN 


those  splendid  visions  of  her  lonely  childhood  rose,  shap 
ing  themselves  in  the  starry  darkness — the  old  mystery 
of  dreams,  the  old,  innocent  desires,  the  old  simplicity 
of  clairvoyance  wherein  right  was  right  and  wrong, 
wrong — in  all  the  conventional  significance  of  right  and 
wrong,  in  all  the  old-fashioned,  undisturbed  faith  of 
childhood. 

Drifting  deliciously,  her  eyes  sometimes  meeting 
his,  sometimes  lost  in  the  magic  of  her  reverie,  she  lay 
there  in  her  chair,  her  unresisting  fingers  locked 
in  his. 

Odd  little  thoughts  came  hovering  into  her  reverie — 
thoughts  that  seemed  distantly  familiar,  the  direct,  un 
conscious  impulses  of  a  child.  To  feel  was  once  more 
the  only  motive  for  expression;  to  think  fearlessly  was 
once  more  inherent;  to  desire  was  to  demand — unlock 
her  lips,  naively,  and  ask  for  what  she  wished. 

Under  the  spell,  she  turned  her  blue  gaze  on  him, 
and  her  lips  parted  without  a  tremor: 

"  What  do  you  offer  for  what  you  ask  ?  And  do 
you  still  ask  it  ?  Is  it  me  you  are  asking  me  for  ?  Be 
cause  you  love  me  ?  And  what  do  you  give — love  ?  " 

"  Weigh  it  with  the — other,"  he  said. 

"  I  have — often — every  moment  since  I  have  known 
you.  And  what  a  winter !  "  Her  voice  was  almost  in 
audible.  "  What  a  winter — without  you !  " 

"  That  hell  is  ended  for  me,  too.  Sylvia,  I  know 
what  I  ask.  And  I  ask.  I  know  what  I  offer.  Will 
you  take  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

He  rose,  blindly.  She  stood  up,  pale,  wide-eyed, 
confronting  him,  stammering  out  the  bargain: 

"  I  take  all — all !  every  virtue,  every  vice  of  you. 
I  give  all — all !  all  I  have  been,  all  I  am,  all  I  shall  be ! 

485 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Is  that  enough?     Oh,  if  there  were  only  more  to  give! 
Stephen,  if  there  were  only  more !  " 

Her  hands  had  fallen  into  his,  and  they  looked  each 
other  in  the  eyes. 

Suddenly,  through  the  hush  of  the  enchanted  mo 
ment,  a  sullen  sound  broke — the  sound  of  a  voice  they 
knew,  threateningly  raised,  louder  and  louder,  growling, 
profanely  menacing. 

Aghast,  they  turned  in  the  darkness,  peering  tow 
ard  the  lighted  space  beyond.  Leroy  Mortimer,  his 
face  shockingly  congested,  stood  unsteadily  balancing 
there,  confronting  his  wife,  who  sat  staring  at  him  in 
horror.  At  the  same  instant  Plank  rose  and  laid  a 
hand  on  Mortimer's  shoulder,  but  Mortimer  shook  him 
off  with  a  warning  oath. 

"  You  and  I  will  settle  with  each  other  to-morrow ! " 
he  said  thickly,  pointing  a  puffy  finger  at  Plank. 
"  You'll  find  me  at  the  Algonquin  Trust.  Do  you  hear? 
That's  where  you'll  settle  this  matter — in  the  president's 
office !  "  He  stood  swaying  and  leering  at  Plank,  re 
peating  loudly :  "  In  Quarrier's  office !  Understand  ? 
That's  where  you'll  settle  up !  See?  " 

Leila,  white  face  quivering,  shrank  as  though  he  had 
struck  her,  and  he  turned  on  her  again,  grinning :  "  As 
for  you,  you  come  home!  And  that'll  be  about  all  for 
yours." 

"  Are  you  insane,  to  make  a  scene  like  this  ?  "  whis 
pered  Plank. 

But  Mortimer  swung  on  him  insultingly :  "  That's 
about  all  from  you,  too !  "  he  said.  "  Leila,  are  you 
coming?  " 

He  stepped  heavily  toward  her;  but  Plank's  sudden 
crushing  grip  was  on  his  fat  arm  above  the  elbow,  and 
he  emitted  a  roar  of  surprise  and  pain. 

486 


THE   BARGAIN 


"  Don't  touch  him !  Don't,  in  Heaven's  name ! " 
stammered  Leila,  as  Plank,  releasing  him,  stepped  back 
beside  her  chair.  "  Can't  you  see  that  I  must  go  with 
him !  I — I  must  go."  She  cast  one  terrified  glance 
around  her,  where  scores  of  strange  faces  met  hers ;  and 
at  every  table  people  were  standing  up  to  see  better. 

Plank,  who  had  dropped  Mortimer's  arm  as  the  lat 
ter  emitted  his  bellow  of  amazement,  stepped  toward  him 
again,  dropping  his  voice  as  he  spoke: 

"  You  go!  Do  you  hear?  "  he  said  quietly.  "  I'll 
do  what  you  ask  me,  to-morrow !  I  will  do  what  you  ask, 
if  you'll  go  now  \  " 

"  You  come — do  you  hear !  "  snarled  Mortimer, 
turning  on  his  wife,  who  had  already  risen.  "  If  you 
don't  I'll  make  a  row  here  that  you'll  never  hear  the 
end  of  as  long  as  you  live !  And  there'll  be  nothing  to 
talk  over  in  Quarrier's  office,  if  I  do." 

Leila  looked  at  Plank,  rose,  and  moved  swiftly 
toward  the  veranda  steps,  her  head  resolutely  lowered, 
the  burning  shame  flaming  in  her  face.  Mortimer  cast 
one  triumphant  glance  at  Plank,  then  waddled  unstead 
ily  after  his  wife. 

"  Hold  on,"  he  growled ;  "  I've  a  Mercedes  here ! 
I'll  drive  you  back — wait !  Here  it  is  !  Here  we  are !  " 
And  to  Quarrier's  machinist  he  said :  "  You  get  into  the 
tonneau.  I  want  to  show  Mrs.  Mortimer  what  night- 
driving  is.  Do  you  hear?  I  tell  you  I'm  going  to  drive 
this  machine  and  show  you  how !  " 

Leila  scarcely  heard  him.  She  obeyed  the  impulse 
of  his  hand  on  her  arm,  and  mounted  to  the  seat,  star 
ing  straight  ahead  of  her  with  dazed  and  straining  eyes 
that  saw  nothing. 

Then  Mortimer  clambered  to  his  seat,  and,  without 
an  instant's  warning,  opened  up  and  seized  the  wheel. 
32  487 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

Unprepared,  the  machinist  attempted  to  swing 
aboard,  missed  his  footing  in  the  uncertain  light,  and 
fell  sprawling  on  the  gravel.  Plank  saw  him  from  the 
veranda  and  instantly  vaulted  the  rail  to  the  lawn  below. 

"  You  damn  fool ! "  yelled  Mortimer,  looking 
around,  "  what  in  hell  do  you  think  you'll  do  ?  "  And 
he  clapped  on  full  speed  as  Plank  made  a  leap  for  the 
car  and  missed. 

Mortimer  laughed,  and  turned  his  head  to  look 
back,  and  the  next  instant  something  seemed  to  wrench 
the  steering-wheel  from  its  roots.  There  was  a  blinding 
glare  of  light,  a  scream,  and  the  great  machine  bounded 
into  the  air  full  length,  turned  completely  over,  and  lay 
across  a  flower-bed,  partly  on  one  side. 

Something  was  afire,  too.  Men  were  rushing  from 
the  verandas,  women  screamed,  and  stood  up  wringing 
their  hands;  a  mounted  policeman  came  galloping 
through  the  darkness ;  people  shouted :  "  Throw  sand  on 
it!  Get  shovels,  for  God's  sake!  Lift  that  tonneau! 
There's  a  woman  under  it." 

But  they  were  mistaken,  for  Leila  lay  at  the  foot 
of  the  slope,  one  little  bloody  hand  clutching  the  dead 
grass;  and  Plank  knelt  beside  her,  giving  his  orders 
quietly  to  those  who  came  running  down  the  hill  from 
the  roadway  above,  which  was  now  fiercely  illuminated 
by  burning  gasoline.  At  last  they  got  sand  enough  to 
quench  the  fire  and  men  sufficient  to  lift  the  weight 
from  the  dead  man's  neck,  and  drag  what  was  left  of 
him  onto  the  grass. 

"  Don't  look,"  whispered  Siward,  drawing  Sylvia 
back. 

He  and  she  both  had  put  their  shoulders  to  the  ton 
neau  along  with  the  others;  and  now  they  stood  there 
together  in  the  shifting  lantern-light,  sickened,  shiver- 

488 


THE   BARGAIN 


ing  under  the  summer  stars,  staring  at  the  gathering 
crowd  around  that  shapeless  lump  on  the  grass. 

Plank  passed  them,  walking  beside  an  improvised 
stretcher,  calm,  almost  smiling,  as  Sylvia  sprang  for 
ward  with  a  little  sob  of  inquiry. 

"  There's  the  doctor,  over  there ;  that  man  is  a  doc 
tor;  he  knows,"  repeated  Plank  with  studied  delibera 
tion,  looking  down  at  Leila's  deathly  face.  "  He  says 
it's  all  right ;  he  says  he'll  get  a  candle,  and  that  he  can 
tell  by  the  flame's  effect  on  the  pupils  of  the  eyes  what 
exactly  is  the  matter.  No,"  to  Siward  beside  him, 
pressing  forward  through  the  crowd  which  eddied  from 
the  dead  man  to  the  stretcher ;  "  no,  there  is  not  a  bone 
broken.  She  is  stunned,  that's  all ;  she  fell  in  the  shrub 
bery.  We'll  have  an  ambulance  here  pretty  quick. 
Stephen,"  using  his  first  name  unconsciously,  "  won't 
you  look  out  for  Sylvia?  I'm  going  back  on  the  am 
bulance.  If  you'll  find  somebody  to  drive  my  machine, 
I  wish  you  would  take  Sylvia  back.  No,  I  don't  want 
you  to  drive,  Stephen — if  you  don't  mind.  Get  that 
machinist,  please.  I'm  rattled,  and  I  don't  want  you  to 
drive." 

Leila  lay  on  the  stretcher,  her  bloodless  face  up 
turned  to  the  stars.  Beyond,  under  a  blanket,  some 
thing  else  lay  very  still  on  the  lawn. 

Plank  beckoned  a  policeman,  and  whispered  to  him. 

Then,  far  away  in  the  darkness,  a  distant  clamour 
grew  on  the  night  air,  nearer,  nearer. 

Plank,  standing  beside  the  stretcher,  raised  his  head, 
listening  to  the  ambulance  arriving  at  full  speed. 


4-89 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE    ENEMY    LISTENS 

IN  September,  her  marriage  to  Siward  excitingly 
imminent,  Sylvia  had  been  seized  with  a  passion  for 
wholesale  renunciation  and  rigid  self-chastisement.  All 
that  had  been  so  materially  desirable  to  her  in  life,  all 
that  she  had  heretofore  worshipped,  in  and  belonging 
to  her  own  world,  she  now  denied.  Down  went  the  min 
iature  golden  calf  from  the  altar  in  her  private  shrine, 
its  tiny  crashing  fall  making  considerable  racket 
throughout  her  world,  and  the  planets  and  satellites 
adjacent  to  that  section  of  the  social  system  which  she 
had  long  been  expected  to  dominate. 

The  spectacle  of  their  youthful  ruler-elect  in  sack 
cloth  as  the  future  bride  of  a  business  man  had  more 
than  disconcerted  them.  The  amazing  announcement 
of  Quarrier's  engagement  to  Agatha  Caithness  stupe 
fied  the  elect,  rendering  in  one  harrowing  instant  null 
and  void  the  thousand  petty  plans  and  plots,  intrigues 
and  schemes,  upon  which  future  social  constructions  on 
the  social  structure  had  been  based. 

The  grief  and  amazement  of  Major  Belwether,  al 
ready  distracted  by  his  non-participation,  through  his 
own  fault,  in  Plank's  consolidation  of  Amalgamated 
with  Inter-County,  was  pitiable  to  the  verge  of  the  un 
pleasant.  Like  panic-stricken  rabbits,  his  thoughts  ran 
in  circles,  and  he  skipped  in  their  wake,  scurrying  from 
Quarrier  to  Harrington,  from  Harrington  to  Plank, 

490 


THE   ENEMY   LISTENS 


from  Plank  to  Siward,  in  distracted  hope  of  recovering 
his  equilibrium  and  squatting  safely  somewhere  in  some 
body's  luxuriantly  perpetual  cabbage-patch.  He  even 
squeezed  under  the  fence  and  hopped  humbly  about  old 
Peter  Caithness,  who  suddenly  assumed  monumental 
proportions  among  those  who  had  so  long  tolerated  him. 

But  Quarrier  coldly  drove  him  away  and  the  in 
creasing  crowds  besieging  poor,  bewildered  old  Peter 
Caithness  trod  upon  the  major,  and  there  was  nothing 
for  him  to  do  but  to  scuttle  back  to  his  own  brush-heap 
and  huddle  there,  squeaking  pitifully. 

As  for  Grace  Ferrall,  she  lost  no  time  in  tears,  but 
took  Agatha  publicly  to  her  bosom,  turned  furiously  on 
Quarrier  in  private,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her  life 
permitted  herself  the  luxury  of  telling  him  exactly  what 
she  thought  of  him. 

"  You  had  your  chance,"  she  said ;  "  but  you  are 
all  surface!  There's  nothing  to  you  but  soft  beard  and 
manicuring,  and  the  reticence  of  stupidity!  Tlie  one 
girl  for  you — and  you  couldn't  hold  on  to  her!  The 
one  chance  of  your  life — and  it's  escaped  you,  leaving 
a  tuft  of  pompadour  hair  and  a  pair  of  woman's  eyes 
protruding  from  the  golden  dust-heap  your  father 
buried  you  in.  Now  you'd  better  sit  there  and  let  it 
cover  your  mouth,  and  try  to  breathe  through  your 
nose.  Agatha  is  looking  for  a  new  sensation ;  she's  tried 
everything,  now  she's  going  to  try  you,  that's  all.  She 
will  be  an  invaluable  leader,  Howard,  and  we  shall  not 
yawn,  I  assure  you.  But,  oh!  the  chance  you've  lost, 
for  lack  of  a  drop  of  red  blood,  and  a  barber  to  give 
you  the  beard  of  a  man !  " 

Which  merely  deepened  the  fear  and  hatred  which 
Quarrier  had  entertained  for  his  pretty  cousin  from 
the  depths  of  his  silk-wadded  cradle.  As  for  Kemp  Fer- 

491 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

rail,  now  third  vice-president  of  Inter-County,  he  only 
laughed  with  the  tolerance  of  a  man  in  safety;  and, 
looking  at  Quarrier  through  the  pickets  of  the  financial 
fence,  not  only  forgot  how  close  his  escape  had  been, 
but,  being  a  busy  and  progressive  young  man,  began 
to  consider  how  he  might  ultimately  extract  a  little 
profit  from  the  expensive  tenant  of  the  enclosure. 

Grace  made  the  journey  to  town  to  express  herself 
freely  for  Sylvia's  benefit;  but  when  she  saw  Sylvia,  the 
girl's  radiant  beauty  checked  her,  and  all  she  could  say 
was :  "  My  dear !  my  dear,  I  knew  you  would  do  it !  I 
knew  you  would  fling  him  on  his  head.  It's  in  your 
blood,  you  little  jade!  you  little  jilt!  you  minx  of  a 
baggage!  I  knew  you'd  behave  like  all  the  women  of 
your  race ! " 

Sylvia  held  Mrs.  Ferrall's  pretty  face  impressed  be 
tween  both  her  hands,  and  looking  her  mischievously  in 
the  eyes,  she  whispered: 

e ' e  Comme  vous,  maman,  faut-il  Jaire  ? 

— Eh  !  mes  petits-enfants,  pourquoi, 
Quand  f  ai  fait  comme  ma  grand' mere, 
Ne  feriez-vous  pas  comme  moi  ?  '  ' 

"  O  Lord !  "  said  Mrs.  Ferrall,  "  I'll  never  meddle 
again — and  the  entire  world  may  marry  and  take  the 
consequences !  "  Then  she  drove  to  the  Santa  Regina, 
where  Marion  was  to  join  her  in  her  return  to  Shotover; 
and  she  was  already  trying  to  make  up  her  disturbed 
mind  as  to  which  might  prove  the  more  suitable  for 
Marion — Captain  Voucher,  gloomily  recovering  from 
his  defeat  by  Quarrier,  or  Billy  Fleetwood,  who  didn't 
want  to  marry  anybody. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Siward's  new  duties  as  second 
vice-president  of  Inter-County  had  given  him  scant 

492 


THE   ENEMY   LISTENS 


leisure  for  open-air  convalescence.  He  was  busy  with 
Plank;  he  was  also  busy  with  the  private  investigation 
stirred  up  at  the  Patroons'  Club  and  the  Lenox,  and 
which  was  slowly  but  inevitably  resulting  in  clearing 
him,  so  that  his  restoration  to  good  standing  and  full 
membership  remained  now  only  a  matter  of  formal  pro 
cedure. 

So  Siward  was  becoming  a  very  busy  man  among 
men ;  and  Plank,  still  carrying  on  his  broad  shoulders 
burdens  unbearable  by  any  man  save  such  a  man  as  he, 
shook  his  heavy  head,  and  ordered  Siward  into  the  open. 
Arid  Siward,  who  had  learned  to  obey,  obeyed. 

But  September  had  nearly  ended,  when  Leila,  in 
Plank's  private  car,  attended  by  Siward  and  Sylvia  and 
two  trained  nurses,  arrived  at  the  Fells.  The  nurses 
— Plank's  idea — were  a  surprise  to  Leila;  and  the  day 
after  her  arrival  at  the  Fells  she  dismissed  them,  got 
out  of  bed,  and  dressed  and  came  downstairs  all  alone, 
on  a  pair  of  sound  though  faltering  legs. 

Sylvia  and  Siward  were  in  the  music-room,  very 
busily  figuring  out  the  probable  cost  of  a  house  in  that 
section  of  the  city  east  of  Park  Avenue,  where  the  newly 
married  imprudent  are  forming  colonies — a  just  punish 
ment  for  those  reckless  brides  who  marry  for  love,  and 
are  obliged  to  drive  over  two  car-tracks  to  reach  their 
wealthy  friends  and  relatives  of  the  Golden  Zone. 

And  Leila,  in  her  pretty  invalid's  gown  of  lace, 
stood  silently  at  the  music-room  door,  watching  them. 
Her  thick,  dark  hair  was  braided,  and  looped  up  under 
a  black  bow  behind;  and  she  looked  like  a  curious  and 
impertinent  schoolgirl  peeping  at  them  there  through 
the  crack  of  the  door,  bending  forward,  her  joined  hands 
flattened  between  her  knees. 

"  Oh,"  she  said  at  length,  in  a  frankly  disappointed 
493 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

voice,  "  is  that  all  you  do  when  your  chaperone  is 
abed?" 

"  Angel !  "  cried  Sylvia,  springing  up,  "  how  in  the 
world  did  you  ever  manage  to  come  downstairs  ?  " 

"  On  the  usual  number  of  feet.  If  you  think  it's 
very  gay  up  there — "  She  laid  her  hands  in  Sylvia's, 
and  looked  at  Siward  with  all  the  old  mockery  in 
her  eyes — eyes  which  slanted  a  little  at  the  corners, 
Japanese-wise :  "  Stephen,  you  are  growing  positively 
plump.  You'd  better  not  do  that  until  Sylvia  marries 
you.  Look  at  him,  dear!  He's  getting  all  smooth  in 
the  cheeks,  like  a  horrid  undergraduate  boy !  " 

She  released  one  hand  and  greeted  Siward.  "Thank 
you,"  she  said  serenely,  replying  to  his  inquiry,  "  I  am 
perfectly  well.  You  pay  me  no  compliment  when  you 
ask  me,  after  you  have  seen  me."  And  to  Sylvia,  look 
ing  at  her  white  flannels :  "  What  have  you  been  play 
ing?  What  do  you  find  to  do  with  yourself,  Sylvia, 
with  that  plump  sun-burned  boy  at  you  heels  all  day 
long?  Are  there  no  men  about?  " 

"One's  coming  to-day,"  said  Sylvia,  laughing;  and 
slipping  her  arm  around  Leila's  waist,  she  strolled  with 
her  out  through  the  tall  glass  doors  to  the  terrace,  with 
a  backward  glance  of  airy  dismissal  for  Siward. 

Plank  had  wired  from  New  York,  the  night  before, 
that  he  was  coming;  in  another  hour  he  would  be  there. 
Leila  knew  it  perfectly  well,  and  she  looked  into  the 
wickedly  expressive  young  face  of  the  girl  beside  her, 
eyes  soft  but  unsmiling. 

"  Child,  child,"  she  murmured, "  you  do  not  know 
how  much  of  a  man  a  man  can  be !  " 

"Yes,  I  do!"  said  Sylvia  hotly. 

Leila  smiled.  "  Hush,  you  little  silly !  I've  talked 
Stephen  and  praised  Stephen  to  you  for  days  and  days, 

494 


THE   ENEMY   LISTENS 


and  the  moment  I  dare  mention  another  man  you  fly  at 
me,  hair  on  end !  " 

"  Oh,  Leila,  I  know  it !  I'm  perfectly  mad  about 
him,  that's  all.  But  don't  you  think  he  is  looking  like 
himself  again?  And,  Leila,  isn't  he  strangely  attrac 
tive? — I  don't  mean  just  because  I  happen  to  be  in  love 
with  him,  but  give  me  a  perfectly  cold  and  unbiassed 
opinion,  dear,  because  there  is  simply  no  use  in  a  girl's 
blinding  herself  to  facts,  or  in  ignoring  certain  fixed 
laws  of  symmetry,  which  it  is  perfectly  obvious  that  Mr. 
Siward  fulfils  in  those  well-known  and  established  pro 
portions  which " 

"Sylvia!" 

"What?"  she  asked,  startled. 

"  Nothing.     Only  for  two  solid  weeks " 

"  Of  course,  if  you  are  not  interested " 

"  But  I  am,  child — I  am !  desperately  interested ! 
He  is  handsome !  I  knew  him  before  you  did,  and  I 
thought  so  then  !  " 

"Did  you?"  said  Sylvia,  troubled. 

"  Yes,  I  did.  When  I  wore  short  skirts  I  kissed 
him,  too!" 

"Did  you?    W— what  did  he  wear?  " 

"  Knickerbockers,  silly !  You  don't  think  he  was 
still  in  the  cradle,  do  you  ?  I'm  not  as  aged  as  that !  " 

"  I  missed  a  great  deal  in  my  childhood,"  said  Syl 
via  naively. 

"  By  not  knowing  Stephen  ?  Pooh !  He  used  to 
pinch  me,  and  then  we'd  put  out  our  tongues  in  mutual 
derision.  Once " 

"  Stop !  "  said  Sylvia  faintly.  "  And  anyhow,  you 
probably  taught  him.  .  .  .  Look  at  him  as  he  saunters 
across  the  lawn,  Leila — look  at  him!  " 

"Well?     I  see  him." 

495 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

"  Isn't  he  almost  an  ideal?  " 

"  He  is.     He  certainly  is,  dear." 

"  Do  you  think  he  walks  as  though  he  were  per 
fectly  well?  " 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Leila  thoughtfully. 
"  Sometimes  people  whose  walk  is  a  gracefully  languid 
saunter  develop  adipose  tissue  after  forty." 

"  Nonsense !  Really,  Leila,  do  you  think  he  walks 
like  a  perfectly  well  man  ?  " 

"  He  may  be  coming  down  with  whooping- 
cough " 

Sylvia  rose  indignantly,  but  Leila  pulled  her  back 
to  the  sun-warmed  marble  bench: 

"  A  girl  in  love  loses  her  sense  of  humour  tempo 
rarily.  Sit  down,  you  little  vixen !  " 

"  Leila,  you  laugh  at  everything  when  I  don't  feel 
like  it." 

"  I'm  not  in  love,  and  that's  why." 

"  You  are  in  love !  " 

Leila  looked  at  her,  then  under  her  breath :  "  In  love, 
am  I — with  the  whole  young  world  ringing  with  the 
laughter  I  had  forgotten  the  very  sound  of?  Do  you 
call  that  love? — with  the  sea  and  sky  laughing  back  at 
me,  and  the  wind  in  my  ears  fairly  tremulous  with 
laughter?  Do  you,  who  look  out  upon  the  pretty  world 
so  seriously  through  those  sea-blue  eyes  of  yours,  think 
that  7  can  be  in  love?  " 

"  Oh,  Leila,  a  girl's  happiness  is  serious  enough, 
isn't  it?  Dear,  it  frightens  me !  I  was  so  close  to  losing 
it — once." 

"  I  lost  mine,"  said  Leila,  closing  her  eyes  for  a 
moment.  "  I  shall  not  sigh  if  I  find  it  again." 

They  sat  there  in  the  sun,  Leila's  hand  lying  idly 
in  Sylvia's,  the  soft  sea-wind  stirring  their  hair,  and 

496 


THE   ENEMY   LISTENS 


in  their  ears  the  thunderous  undertone  of  the  mounting 
sea. 

"  Look  at  Stephen ! "  murmured  Sylvia,  her  enrap 
tured  eyes  following  him  as  he  strolled  hatless  and  coat- 
less  along  the  cliff's  edge,  the  sun  glimmering  on  his 
short  hair,  a  tall,  slim,  well-coupled,  strongly  knit  shape 
against  the  sky  and  sea. 

But  Leila's  quick  ear  had  caught  a  significant  sound 
from  the  gravel  drive  behind  her,  and  she  stood  up,  a 
delicious  colour  tinting  her  face. 

"  Are  you  going  in  ?  "  asked  Sylvia.  Then  she, 
too,  heard  the  subdued  whirring  of  a  motor  from  the 
front  of  the  house,  and  she  looked  at  Leila  as  she  turned 
and  recrossed  the  terrace,  walking  slowly  but  erect,  her 
pretty  head  held  high. 

Then  Sylvia  faced  the  sea  again  and  presently  de 
scended  the  terrace,  crossing  the  long  lawn  toward  the 
headland,  where  Siward  stood  looking  out  across  the 
water. 

Leila,  from  the  music-room,  watched  her;  then  she 
heard  Plank's  voice,  and  his  step  on  the  stair,  and  she 
called  out  to  him  gaily : 

"  I  am  downstairs,  thank  you.  How  dared  you  send 
me  those  foolish  nurses  !  " 

She  was  laughing  when  he  came  into  the  room,  stand 
ing  there  erect,  head  high,  a  brilliant  colour  in  her 
cheeks ;  and  she  offered  him  both  hands  which  he  took 
between  his  own,  holding  them  strongly,  and  looking  into 
her  face  with  steady,  questioning  eyes. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  said,  still  smiling,  but  her  scarlet  under- 
lip  trembled  a  little ;  then :  "  Yes,  you  may  say  what  you 
wish — what  I — I  wish  you  to  say.  .  .  .  There  can  be 
no  harm  in  talking  about  it.  But — will  you  be  very 
gentle  with  me?  Don't  m-make  me  cry;  I  h-have — 

497 


THE   FIGHTING   CHANCE 

I  am  t-trying  to  remember  how  it  feels  to  laugh  once 


Sylvia,  tying  in  the  hot  sand  on  the  tiny  crescent 
beach  under  the  cliffs,  listened  gravely  to  Si  ward's  fig 
ures,  as,  note-book  in  hand,  he  went  over  the  real-estate 
problem,  commenting  thoughtfully  as  he  discussed  the 
houses  offered. 

"  Twenty  by  a  hundred  and  two ;  good  rear,  north 
side  of  the  street — next  door  to  the  Tommy  Barcla}^, 
you  know,  Sylvia ;  only  they're  asking  forty-two- 
five." 

"  That  is  an  outrage !  "  said  Sylvia  seriously ;  "  be 
sides,  I  remember  there  was  a  wretched  cellar,  and  only 
a  butler's  pantry  extension.  I'd  much  rather  have  that 
little  house  in  Sixty-fourth  Street,  where  the  Fether- 
braynes  live — next  house  on  the  west,  you  know.  Then 
we  can  pull  it  down  and  build — when  we  want  to." 

"  We  won't  be  able  to  afford  to  build  for  a  while, 
you  know,"  said  Siward  doubtfully. 

"  What  do  we  care,  dear?  We'll  have  millions  of 
things  to  do,  anyway,  and  what  is  the  use  of  building?  " 

"  As  many  things  to  do  as  that?  "  he  said,  looking 
over  his  note-book  with  a  smile. 

"More!  Are  we  not  just  beginning  to  live,  and 
open  our  eyes,  silly?  Listen:  Books,  books,  books,  from 
top  to  bottom  of  the  house,  that  is  what  I  want  first  of 
all — except  my  piano." 

"  Do  let  us  have  a  little  plumbing,  dear,"  he  said 
so  seriously  that  for  a  fraction  of  a  second  she  was 
on  the  verge  of  taking  him  seriously. 

"  Why  extravagant  plumbing  when  books  furnish 
sufficient  circulation  for  the  flow  of  soul,  dear?  "  she  re 
torted  gravely. 

498 


THE   ENEMY   LISTENS 


"  Nobody  we  know  will  ever  come  to  see  us,  if  they 
think  we  read  books,"  said  Siward. 

"  Isn't  it  delightful !  "  sighed  Sylvia.  "  We're  going 
to  become  frumps !  I  mustn't  forget  the  blue  stockings 
for  my  trousseau,  and  you  mustn't  forget  the  California 
claret  for  the  cellar,  dear.  We  will  need  it  when  we 
read  Henry  James  to  each  other." 

Siward,  resting  his  weight  on  one  hand,  laughed,  and 
looked  out  at  the  surf  drenching  the  reefs  with  silver. 

"  To  think,"  he  said,  "  that  I  could  ever  have  been 
enough  afraid  of  the  sea  to  hate  it !  After  all,  at  low 
tide  the  reef  is  always  there  in  the  same  place  and  none 
the  worse  for  the  drenching.  All  that  surf  only  shows 
how  strong  a  rock  can  be." 

He  smiled,  and  turned  to  look  at  Sylvia;  and  she 
lay  there,  silent,  blue  eyes  looking  back  into  his.  Sud 
denly  they  glimmered  with  tears,  and  she  stretched  out 
both  arms,  drawing  his  head  down  to  hers  convulsively, 
her  quivering  mouth  crushed  against  his  lips.  Then  she 
rose  to  her  knees,  to  her  feet,  dazed,  brushing  the  tears 
from  her  eyes. 

"  To  think — to  think,"  she  stammered,  "  that  I  might 
have  let  you  face  the  world  alone !  Dearest,  dearest,  we 
must  fight  a  good  fight.  The  sea  is  always  there — 
always,  always  there  !  " 

He  looked  straight  into  her  eyes,  fearlessly,  tenderly, 
and  she  looked  back  with  the  divine,  untroubled  gaze  of 
a  child,  laying  her  slender,  sun-tanned  hands  in  his. 

And,  deep  in  his  body,  as  he  stood  there,  he  heard  the 
low  challenge  of  his  soul  on  guard;  and  he  knew  that 
the  Enemy  listened. 

(i) 

THE   END 


499 


WORKS  OF  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS. 

IDLE. 

Color  inlay  on  the  cover  and  many  full-page  illus 
trations,  borders,  thumbnail  sketches,  etc.,  by  J.  C. 
Leyendecker,  Arthur  Becher,  and  Karl  Anderson. 
$1.25. 

The  story  of  eight  pretty  girls  and  their  fat  poetical 
father,  an  apostle  of  art  "  dead  stuck  on  Nature  and  sim 
plicity." 

"  *  lole '  is  unquestionably  a  classic." — San  Francisco  Bulletin. 

"  Mr.  Chambers  is  a  benefactor  to  the  human  race." 

— Seattle  Post-Intelligencer. 

"Quite  the  most  amusing  and  delectable  bit  of  nonsense  that  has 
come  to  light  for  a  long  time." — Life. 

41  One  of  the  most  alluring  books  of  the  season." 

— Louisville  Courier-Journal. 

"  The  joyous  abounding  charm  of  '  lole '  is  indescribable.  It  is  for 
you  to  read.  '  lole  '  is  guaranteed  to  drive  away  the  blues." 

— New  York  Press. 

11  Mr.  Chambers  has  never  shown  himself  more  brilliant  and  more 
imaginative  than  in  this  little  satirical  idyllic  comedy." 

— JFansas  City  Star. 

44  A  fresh  proof  of  Mr.  Chambers'  amazing  versatility." 

— Everybody's  Magazine. 

"  As  delicious  a  satire  as  one  could  want  to  read." 

— Pittsburg  Chronicle. 

"  It  is  an  achievement  to  write  a  genuinely  funny  book  and  another 
to  write  a  truly  instructive  book  ;  but  it  is  the  greatest  of  achievements 
to  write  a  book  that  is  both.  This  Mr.  Chambers  has  done  in  '  lole.'  " 

—  Washington  Star. 

44  Amid  the  outpour  of  the  insipid  '  lole '  comes  as  June  sunshine. 
The  author  of  4  Cardigan '  shows  a  fine  touch  and  rarer  pigments  'as  the 
number  of  his  canvases  grows.  '  lole  '  is  a  literary  achievement  which 
must  always  stand  in  the  foremost  of  its  class." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY,    NEW    YORK. 


A  GREAT  ROMANTIC  NOVEL. 

The  Reckoning. 

By  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS.  Illustrated  by 
Henry  Hutt.  $1.50. 

"A  thrilling  and  engrossing  tale." — New  York  Sun. 

"  When  we  say  that  the  new  work  is  as  good  as  '  Cardigan '  it 
is  hardly  necessary  to  say  more." — The  Dial. 

"  Robert  Chambers'  books  recommend  themselves.  *  The 
Reckoning'  is  one  of  his  best  and  will  delight  lovers  of  good 
novels." — Boston  Herald. 

"  It  is  an  exceedingly  fine  specimen  of  its  class,  worthy  of  its 
predecessors  and  a  joy  to  all  who  like  plenty  of  swing  and  spirit." 

— London  Bookman. 

"  Robert  W.  Chambers'  stories  of  the  revolutionary  period  in 
particular  show  a  care  in  historic  detail  that  put  them  in  a  different 
class  from  the  rank  and  file  of  colonial  novels." — Book  News. 

"  A  stirring  tale  well  told  and  absorbing.  It  is  not  a  book  to 
forget  easily  and  it  will  for  many  throw  new  light  on  a  phase  of 
revolutionary  history  replete  with  interest  and  appeal." 

— Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"  Chambers'  bullets  whistle  almost  audibly  in  the  pages ;  when 
a  twig  snaps,  as  twigs  do  perforce  in  these  chronicles,  you  can 
almost  feel  the  presence  of  the  savage  buck  who  snaps  it.  Then 
there  are  situations  of  force  and  effect  everywhere  through  the 
pages,  an  intensity  of  action,  a  certain  naturalness  of  dialogue  and 
4  human  nature  '  in  the  incidents.  But  over  all  is  the  glamor  of  the 
Chambers  fancy,  the  gauzy  woof  of  an  artist's  imagination  which 
glories  in  tints,  in  poesies,  in  the  little  whims  of  the  brush  and 
pencil,  so  that  you  have  just  a  pleasant  reminder  of  unreality  and 
a  glimpse  of  the  author  himself  here  and  there  to  vary  the  interest." 

— St.  Louis  Republic. 


D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  5O  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


, 


)CT     -  ' 


TbJU 


LD  21-100TO-7,'39(402s) 


912819 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


